Lesson 79: loving money so much you let your older sister dress you up like a girl for some lame penny she found laying willy-nilly on the floor = a cross dressing Scrooge McDuck
Even though my sister, Veronica (I named her), didn't come until I was almost an adult, I still felt a close bond with her. We did everything together. Not exactly by choice, as I ended up being her live in nanny. It was a bit awkward when Adam and I would take her around town and outsiders assumed she was ours. We got so tired of explaining our situation, it got to the point people would say, "She's so cute. Is she yours?" Our reply would be a quick, "Yep" as we ran away. We weren't lying. We didn't just find her on the road somewhere. She definitely wasn't theirs.
When Ronnie was little I dressed her up and did her hair, kind of like having a live doll. Unfortunately, she was some sort of child prodigy, using big words and being able to spell at age 2. She had a bigger vocabulary than Clayte, who was 16 at this time, and everytime someone would say the word pizza it turned into a spelling bee. "Pizza, P-I-Z-Z-A, pizza". This kind of intelligence got me in trouble. She's the one who told on me when I got a tattoo.
Lesson 80: being narked out by a 2 year old = white trash
As she grew, the differences between us became more apparent. For starters, our looks are completely opposite. I'm a brunette with brown eyes. She's light haired with sparkly, bright blue eyes. I have oomp-loompa legs and a ridiculously long torso, and she has the longest legs I have ever seen with barely any middle. Oh, and my mom tells me she'll probably get boobs too. Hello?! Where is the justice in all this? Where are my gazelle legs? I could have at least gotten some pretty eyes. Nope, Beady-eyed-no-boobs here ready to go work in Charlie's Chocolate Factory.
Our looks aren't the only thing that are different. She's a talented ballerina. I dance, but I did more hip-hop. I guess you have to do what works for your legs. (I'm rolling my eyes right now.) Of course, it may not have anything to do with legs. She's a girly girl and very proper. I've always been more of a tomboy, and a lot more ghetto. (I get it honestly, you should see my booty!)
Come to think of it, there are only two things that we share. One is the ridiculous size of our feet. We both have very long feet, with abnormally long toes. The second is our ability to put those disgusting things we walk on, right in our mouths. That's right, we both have a severe case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. We don't mean to be rude, it just comes out that way. Constantly.
I've come to accept my problem, and I have tried to work on it for years. Luckily, I've had years. Ronnie is only 14 and hasn't had much practice on restraint. So, when she was here for 3 weeks last month (along with my two youngest brothers who are 10 and 9) I had plenty of amusement as she unknowingly insulted me over and over and over again. (Ronnie, you better not be crying right now or I'll tell everyone how your 30 year old sister, who gave birth to 6 kids, kicked your butt at Just Dance.....oh wait, I just did......oh, snap!)
"You are going to fix this counter top, right?" she'd ask. Or, "Your garden really needs weeded." The best was when Jackie was over and out of nowhere she lovingly glanced over at me and said, "Jessie, one of these days I'm going to pick out an outfit for you, do your hair, and paint your nails."
I looked at her and chuckled, "Wow Ronnie, cold as ice."
My sister looked at me, confusion in her eyes, "What?"
Jackie chimed in, "You pretty much just told your sister she can't dress herself and her hair is hideous."
Lesson 81: needing to be dressed by a 14 year old because you obviously can't do it yourself = white trash
Sisters. I'm so very blessed to have one!
Love you Ronnie!!
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