The Sister From Hell

I was 5 when my mother was rushed to the hospital and gave birth to a tiny yet healthy babyboy. 1200 grams, which is large by modern day premature-baby-standards. But in 1979, it was itzy-bitzy.

Being 10 weeks early he was – let’s face it – a fetus. And not pretty. The first thing I asked my mother upon seeing him was: “Why does he look like a monkey?”

He grew up to be a cute and healthy baby with the whitest hair you have ever seen – with marzipan skin and apple breath.

And then he grew up some more and was still occasionally cute but just mostly just annoying.

Now, the thing about me is that I am mischievous. I love nothing more than teasing. Not bullying (ehm, per se) but having fun. I am the type of person who once changed the “n” and the “m” key on my colleague’s keyboard. (In return he hid a bunch of Wunderbaums in my office, all over!!)

I was once left alone in my friends dorm room and when she came back, I had put all her furniture oposite of where it had been when she left. So her bed was where her table had been etc. It looked nice and it was just so damn funny. We lived in a high rise and I loved nothing more than to push all the elevator buttons before I jumped out on my floor, so that my friends would have to make 7 stops on their way up. It became a thing we did. (Sometimes they’d do it to me too. Then I felt loved!)

Once, my husband was reading the paper laying down and didn’t notice me – quiet as a Ninja – applying nail polish on his big toe nail. A sweet, discreet pink mother-of-pearl – hue that looked great on him. (He noticed days later while wearing flip flops to the local supermarked!)

Growing up with a sister like that have perhaps not always been easy.

Once, we were watching Michael Jackson’s Thriller video and he was terrified. “Werewolves don’t really exist, do they?”, the doe eyed little kid asked. “Well, as a matter of fact, they do – and I am a werewolf” I said, looking scary and thus making him cry.

Once, I was “faking” pushing him off a bridge but then I threw my balance and accidentally dropped him, so he fell into the water. Unfortunately my mother saw it. There was hell to pay. She “didn’t give a rat’s ass” when I tried to explain that “it wasn’t on purpose”.

From the ages 10 – 15 I was VERY much into makeup. Sometimes I could persuade my little brother to participate on a voluntary basis, other times – most often – I’d have to use force. But boy did he have some beautiful smokey eyes! I spent HOURS! applying makeup on him. Today he is an electrician. I’m surprised he isn’t Lady Gaga!

Around the time he was 15 or so, we started hanging out, really. Him and his buddies and sometimes me. Teenage boys are a hoot! We’d watch movies and I’d be overbearing but have a world of fun as they lit their farts.

Today, he is an adult. Somehow he survived his childhood. Somehow he likes me. We are very close. He is the first person I call when I have something important to say. He is rather different from me but still he gets me – we have the same sense of humour.

It also helps that he is a very forgiving person.

And today, he can give as good as he gets. I am proud of him. I taught him everything he knows…