Sunday, 31 May 2015

The Informal Sister Code

Reader, if there's anything that Little Women taught us (besides impressing upon us the themes of love, patience and loyalty, of course) is that having sisters is a lot of work. For me and my sister, having each other can be tough enough. But we've survived all these years by abiding by ten simple rules. Besides the obvious, i.e., I will be the maid-of-honour at your wedding and take care of your kid if you die here are a few of the guidelines for satisfactory sister-sister coexistence.

I co-own all your clothes. Because you've been my sister, for 20 years, and you have great taste, I am allowed to borrow every item in your closet that is my size, no matter how fancy, sans the unnecessary trouble of actually asking for your permission. And then I will give it back, I promise, geez. I also regretfully understand that this privilege will be revoked if I lose, tear, soil or ruin it in anyway.

Never say I told you so. I may not admit it, but I know you are always right, smartypants. And I know my stupid life-fails, more often than not deserve your patented, “I told you so.” just for good measure. But please don’t make it worse by actually saying it. It’s okay when our mother says it, but not you.

When I ask you how I look, no BS. Just tell me how it is. You don’t need to be gentle, just rip the waxing strip right off. Tell me you want to burn that top I keep wearing, tell me my pants look ridiculous, tell me that I can never put on eye-liner without looking like a panda… just prevent me from leaving the house looking like a clown. Unless I actually mean to look like a clown.

Always, always cover for me. It's you and me against the 'rents, so the phrase “Don’t worry, I won’t tell mom” should be on the tip of the tip of your tongue.

You’re not allowed to ruin movies, TV, and books I haven’t seen or read before, for me. I'm still mad at you for telling me that Patrick Dempsey’s character on Grey's Anatomy died even though I don’t watch the show.

You have to eat everything on my plate that I don’t like but don’t want to ask to have removed. Because, you know I am allergic to (read: don’t like) onions, olives, and god forbid peas. Also, it is your fault that I’m terrified of watermelon seeds, you told me if I swallow them a tree would sprout in my stomach. For that psychological trauma, you owe me big. Get those seeds off my plate, discretely.

You will always listen to my rants. I know I am not exactly the best company when I’m ranting, but as my sister it’s your responsibility to listen. If I’m sad you have to tell me that it gets better. When I have happy news to tell you, I want you to pay rapt attention. Do not tell me that I’ve told you this story before or that you’re reeeeeally bored. Fake jump with joy and say, “OMG WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?”

You will never tell me to shut up when I’m singing with my ear phones plugged in and I sound terrible. I know my singing is less Taylor Swift and more Emma Stone singing Pocketful of Sunshine in Easy A. As long as I’m not in public, you have to endure it. Also, don't judge me because I sing along to Taylor Swift. #TayBaeFoLifeYo

Always stop me from procrastinating. If procrastinating was a sport, I’d be holding a gold medal, and you know that better than anyone. So if you see me procrastinating before my finals, or the night before a paper is due, it’s your duty to stop me.

I know, I can be a bit (read: a truck load) unreasonable. But I'm your sister, so you're forced to love me by law, probably. And I love you right back.

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