In which I'm pretty sappy

I waited fourteen years for a sister.

Instead I got a brother. And another one. And ANOTHER one.

(I like them all very much, bytheway.)

But all the tear-jerker movies have sisters in them - and the books - and the posters - and the Hallmark walls and mugs.

And I wanted one. They looked like fun.

So my freshman year of high school, at the ripe old age of fourteen, I finally got my wish.

Abigail. 

I carried her around with me everywhere. 'Doted' is a good word to use here. 'Worshipped' works too.

But then - I graduated.

And I moved.

And years went by.

And I got married.

And I kind of got demoted to a remote aunt-type-figure.

And we got totally gypped out of the REAL Sisters Stuff: the fingernail painting, the chick flicks, the gabbing and gossiping and giggling, the trading of clothes.

But now? Now? That kid sister lives with me. And we're making up for lost time.

 We paint our nails.

 And watch chick flicks.

 And gab.

 And gossip.

 And giggle.

 And my clothes and shoes are constantly missing now.

And this past weekend, we passed another Sister Rite: prom.

See that lil' lady there? That's my sister.

She was well worth the wait.