Remembered when I peed on your shoes, sis?

Today was my sister’s birthday. I remembered it because it’s also Kevin from the Backstreet Boys (the one who has a mustache and a trench coat and looks like a child molester) birthday. Just kidding, I remembered your birthday first, sis.

She’s five years older than me, so naturally, she would boss me around as a child and I would listen to her. I’m not gonna lie – she wasn’t the brightest between the two of us, but she was definitely the goofiest. And yes, I’m using the past tense when describing her only because she moved away three years ago…not because she’s dead.

Case and point: We used to play school when we were little. She’d always insist on being the teacher (and when it was my turn to be the teacher, she’d tell me that my five minutes of teaching was actually a half-hour and that my time was up – bitch!). She would give me difficult math problems to solve (which I did, correctly) but she would never mark them because she didn’t know how to do math.

She was the girly one between both of us. I would collect spiders and drown earthworms (watching the air bubbles at the top of the water was entertaining, okay?) and she would freak out. One time she pretend threatened me with a knife (don’t ask) and I spat on her. For the record, this spit ball was legendary. It was a horker (apparently “horker” isn’t a word according to spellcheck) – the kind of spit that Jack teaches Rose how to do over the balcony in Titanic. I will never forget how she squealed and flapped her arms around when that huge ball of phlegm landed square in the middle of her chest.

We had a tree house which we called “Greengables.” We would dress up as poor people, put black Halloween tar makeup on our teeth, and steal raspberries and green beans from our Mom’s garden. She would pull me around in a wagon, without complaining. She also always let me have shotgun in the car (I’m sorry for being such a whiner, sis). She was also super paranoid about me throwing up on her (I’m not quite sure why, because I never did) and every time I would cough/clear my throat/sneeze she would look at me, eyes full of panic, and say, “Are you feeling okay? Are you gonna puke?” Nuts, I tell you.

I’m sorry I wore your princess skirt and went for a bike ride with it on. I’m sorry it ripped immediately. I’m sorry I used a squirt of your vanilla body spray everyday for two years. I’m sorry I peed on your shoes (we were outside and I didn't feel like walking into the house to use the toilet...And my aim was off). I’m sorry that I drew mustaches on your pictures of Robbie Williams. I’m sorry I tattled, yelled, used your facial washcloth to wipe out the sink, and read your diary (actually, I’m not sorry about that).

I love you, stupid sister.