the longstanding difference between me and my sister.

this is a cruel post, but i found these pictures the other day and they made me laugh. if anyone knows my sister, you know she is an absolute, scatterbrained nut. when she finally procreated, people had to warn her to not drive off with the baby on top of the car. and they were completely serious and more than slightly worried. several $500 cameras and honey caramel lattes had met such a fate. but don’t worry, so far so good with the young lestat.


as for me, i am about the most lethargic, staid piece of humanity on the planet. i’ve visited the whole of 4 states while my sister has bumped capriciously around all of the continents (minus africa and the really cold one that doesn’t count). and disaster has met her at every turn. although, lately she’s been cornered into matrimony, so all the disasters have been centralized and mostly focused on her husband’s truck. hooray for the rest of the world, right? and don’t you love in this picture, how she’s tangled up in her own pants?


anyways, below is an excerpt from a writing exercise in college. my sister and i used to bunk together, in a midget airstream. it was very cozy and sometimes even death defying. that being how she couldn’t park, without driving into the front of it, trying to send it off the retaining wall in the back. it gave me bad dreams. especially when it was 11:00, snowing, and her and the thunderchicken still weren’t home.

I walk home to the trailer around nine-thirty. I had to stay at school working in the computer lab. Besides I don’t like going home that much, an 18 foot trailer isn’t all that roomy. I step over the sidewalk chalk drawings on the way to the front door. I sort of hope Sarah is not home yet. It is not exactly therapeutic to be stuck in close confines with someone who is neurotic. I walk inside and check for notes on the table. Written on the back of some of my Greek homework is a message in purple gel pen; “I went out with a boy tonight. I will be late. I left you some new clothes on the bed so you don’t always look like a bum. Luv Sarah.”
“Oh what a sweety.” I say to myself. I wonder what kind of moron she’s leading on this time. She just dumped the last one two days ago. Of course she can only stand them for a week at a time so it never amounts to anything serious. I walk over to the bed and pick up a pink summer dress with hearts on it. Next to it is a blue sack dress that I pull on to wear for pajamas, while contemplating myself ever in pink hearts. I flip on the porch light and crawl in bed, grabbing my stuffed ostrich named Duck, and fall asleep.

All the lights come on along with the radio in one swift blast. Suddenly the trailer is filled with cold air and noise, the nemesis is home.
“Oh Miranda! I had so much fun. I went to a movie and he bought me coffee and ice cream . . . I can’t stand those guys who don’t pay for anything. And I really couldn’t stand that one guy at all. I don’t know why you guys kept on telling me I should be nice to him. No use in doing things you don’t want to,” she tells me. I hope she is not expecting me to be conversational at this hour of the night, or for that matter, conscious. She throws on her pajamas and begins washing her feet in the sink, which is an act I consider absolutely revolting. I roll over, pulling the blankets around my face.
“Well don’t you want to know his name? Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?”
“Sure.” I mumble.
“Why are you never glad to see me, why do you never want to talk to me? No one ever wants to talk to me, you all just think I’m some kind of freak,” she whines.
“Just tell me what you did,” I say with as much forbearance as I can manage.
“Well we rode around on his Harley…”
“He has a Harley! What kind of guy is it this time?” I sit up staring at her. “I suppose he is thirty and has children like that other guy you went out with?”
“No, he’s twenty three. He’s really nice and wears wranglers and sunglasses and looks all tough, but you can tell that he is just a softy.”
“Any guy that rides a Harley is a nidgit,” I retort.
“No he’s not. . .OOW!” she screams and starts holding her eye, “He’s an entomologist.”
“What did you do?” I lean over the bed and peer into the bathroom. Sarah is holding her eye and blubbering.
“I tried to take out my contacts and forgot they weren’t in. I almost poked my eye out.”
“Hahhhh! Sarah, I swear you are retarded. Go to sleep, I set the alarm for 7:00, don’t mess it up.” I curl up in a ball and pull Duck against my chest. All of the sudden Sarah’s elbow caves into my lung as she climbs over me to get on her favorite side of the bed.
“Crying hell Sarah! You could be a little more careful! I gasp for air and pull back the covers that she had just tried to steal. “Get your cold feet off me!” I yell.
“Well get your hairy legs away from me you sicko!” she says, yanking the covers back.
We lay there quietly for a while, fresh air coming in through all the open windows and I can smell her toxic Green Tea perfume and Burt’s Bees herbal deodorant sifting into the breeze. “Why do you always stink?” I ask.
“I don’t stink! Why does everyone always say I stink?” she complains, almost in tears.
“Well you don’t really stink, you just smell strongly. It’s not necessarily bad. . . How did you meet your boy?” I ask, as a means of condolence.
Her face lights up and she turns over on her elbow, “At the greenhouse. I really like this one Miranda.”
“Sure you do,” I mumble, already dozing off, somehow believing that maybe she does. Well, he’ll sure have his hands full if that’s the case, I chuckle to myself and snuggle against her back. Sarah immediately kicks me in the knee and yells, “Why don’t you shave you retard! Get your legs away from me!”
“My legs weren’t touching you, you freak!” I holler back, grabbing the blankets and turning on my back. “For crying out loud.”


aren’t we a happy couple?


5 Responses to “the longstanding difference between me and my sister.”

  1. 1 sandra germain January 31, 2008 at 4:12 pm

    yes you girls are opposite, that is true. but when i look back, i remember all the times you would try to figure out how to get the chores done with the least amount of effort while sarah would just dive in and work twice as hard. i always saw it as brains versus brawn. a perfect combination. but let me make it known that neither of my girls are lazy. they just tackle things in extremes.

  2. 2 mavis January 31, 2008 at 7:03 pm

    the least amount of effort usually involved figuring out how to get sarah to do it for me. 🙂

  3. 3 Gayla February 1, 2008 at 9:39 am

    That is really funny. I’m stealing it for school. (Personal narrative)

  4. 4 mackenzie February 1, 2008 at 1:44 pm

    oh miranda, you really kill me

  5. 5 Payton March 4, 2008 at 6:16 pm

    Oh God you ake me laugh soooo much!! You both work very hard!!

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