Saturday, May 15, 2010

I Got The Papers On You

Going to a party!

The birthday of my sister happened earlier in the week, so we’re getting together today for fried chicken and ice-cream cake with some pool time to boot.
Now to be totally honest, she’s not my sister.   But she is.  We’ve both got the family insanity (but good).  She’s threatened to kill me (on more than one occasion – and truly meant it).   We tease each other relentlessly and laugh our butts off about it (my partner laughs along – her partner thinks we are both insane).

When we first met – about a million years ago – I liked her instantly.  She has a sharp tongue, bottomless eyes and (holy moley!) freckles (yes, I’m a fool for freckles – The Man has ‘em).  She and I hit it off pretty well and hung out together quite a lot.
She’s a master of subtlety (she kinda has to be – her partner is the mistress of directness).  I dated a guy for almost a year.  Toward the end, I absolutely knew that the partner completely hated the guy.  “I’m so glad that is over.”  She sighed when the relationship screeched to a halt. 

I turned to my Sis, “Did you like him?”

She smiled sheepishly “Not really…”  Wow, she was good.  She never let on.

Now I don’t want to paint the picture that she is covert and sly, she is old-school South.  Her mother is from an old New Orleans family, so my sis was “raised right.”  I was amazed the first time that I gave her a present … and I received a “thank you” note.  Seriously?  A “thank you” note?  Wow, I must be an ungrateful SOB, because I don’t believe that I’ve ever sent a “thank you” note for a birthday present in all my life.  (I think she is the extraordinary one here, not me).

Concrete Autographs

She’s a collection of contradictions:
  • she gets up early for exercise; she loves to sleep in.
  • she says that she doesn’t like people; she has more friends than anyone that I know.
  • she’ll come across harder than nails, then gets all teary-eyed when I tell her how much she means to me.
So, Happy Birthday, Sis … I adopted you.  I think I’ve got the papers in the glove-box of my truck.  You know … that truck that we two knuckle-heads used to pull up a palm tree in your back yard.  They should really keep us separated …

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