Bethie

I have decided to post about my sister, and to do it a lot. She lives in Maryland and I live here in Georgia. I would give an arm and a leg to have her here with me. But instead, she remains up there and I stay here, with all four limbs intact. We talk every day, for the most part, and on days when we don’t talk, we make up for it with two or more conversations on another day. We use each other, in a sweet way. No one can make me laugh like she can, and no one can make her laugh like I can. If we don’t wet our pants laughing during one of our conversations, then consider the dime we spent on minutes a waste of money. We use each other to build each other up, to bounce ideas around, to vent. Not such a bad deal.

She is beautiful, and works out every day, so she has a killer, rock-hard body and dresses in fun, young clothes. I am chunky and lean toward big men’s shirts and polyester pants. She has the most lovely dimples when she smiles; I wear my dimples on my thighs, where they’re not nearly as cute. We are vastly more different looking as we get older, but we gel like only best friends can.

Today, I did not wet my pants when we talked. But the day is still young . . . and I haven’t sneezed yet.