You know… when I was little girl, if a fairy would would have come with a magic wand,
you would have thought I would have said: “Can I be tall?”
Or, “Can I have 5 toes?”
(I have six — on one foot. No, not kidding. No, you can’t see them.)
But, no. I would have said, “Can I trade my brother in for a sister?”
But since I’ve been taking care of my Memaw as she’s gotten older, she has 3 daughters, and I’ve kinda realized — sisters aren’t really that great.
They’re kind of a lot of drama. And they usually all think they’re the boss. At least my brother would just, like, punch me in the face or put something high enough I couldn’t reach it, and we would get on with it when we were kids. And having a brother is the reason that I can hang with (or beat, actually) just about anybody on Sports Jeopardy — well, anybody but him and my cousin Tracy.
It’s the golf. I don’t know a thing about golf. Or hockey. Or OK, anything really played by white people. And I’d still totally kick anybody in the family’s arse on the real Jeopardy.
I guess having a brother isn’t so bad.
So cheer up, little girls out there wishing you had a sister. You’ll be glad for like 5 minutes one day when you’re almost 40.
Candi is a lifelong reader, writer, Democrat, and kid keeper. She lives in Middle Tennessee and rants coast to coast.