My beautiful sister turned 25 today. The Pippa to my Kate has become a woman. I remember being a little girl and my mother would tirelessly repeat the same old: “Your sister is all you’re going to have someday.” Blah, blah, blah, take it easy egg-donor, we get it. We would laugh at her ridiculousness and let it roll off of our shoulders, but in a way, her words could never be truer. I admit, I’m not the easiest sister to have, and to be honest, neither is she. Maybe that’s what perfects our dynamic and makes it such a flawless assimilation of love, rage, laughter, and tears.
As a duchess, we must accept these for what they are, fibrous essentials of our humanistic being. I love her for the raw feelings that she has no problem showing, and she loves me for the bipolar expression of my convoluted emotions. Yes, she ran me over in her hot pink Barbie corvette, and yes I did tag along to her junior prom and make out with the limo driver. Yes, she has been with me through every medical procedure from stitches to surgery. Yes, she does put her hair back and take her earrings out when someone gives me the tiniest tainted look. This, is why I love her so much. My love for her can be summed up in the Aristotelian definition of a friend: we are one soul, dwelling in two bodies, and I would not change that for the world.
Our relationship wasn’t always a friggin cake full of rainbows and smiles, rest assured. The sibling rivalry started at a young age. No matter where we went, people would marvel at her curly, gorgeous red hair. I would sit back and fumble with my jet black, pin-straight mess of hair that fell to the middle of my back: lifeless, boring, average. As I got older, I realized that her hair makes her who she is. There is not one man I’ve met, who has ever dated a red head, who would dare fuck with one. In simpler terms, my sister could make Lorena Bobbit look like a docile Easter bunny. Her hair truly makes her who she is. It is bold, daring, powerful. No half-wit with a personality of a Pez dispenser could possess the spark and fire behind those flowing crimson locks.
It was so easy to sit side-by-side on the swing set, legs flailing, thoughts scattering, loudly mapping out our entire lives... but, our lives are nowhere close to that plan, and that is perfectly fine with me. So what? We’re not married. We don’t have children. We don’t have houses. Boo effing hoo. My sister is 25 and has life in her back pocket. She has a group of friends that would give her the entire universe, a family that loves her unconditionally, a man in her life that sees her for the true beauty and wisdom that she possesses, and a an innate desire to live life to the fullest and to embrace all that is vivacious and spirited.
Enough with the trite cliches and gag-inducing emotional repetitiveness. It boils down to a sisterhood. We have each other in this world and there is not one thing that will ever come between that. Pippa, your life is just beginning. You are seeomg the strong and exceptional woman that I have always known you to be. You are realizing your flaws, your capabilities, and you are doing an incredible job at it. You are an inspiration to so many and a beacon of hope to the aimless wanderers.
Our darling mother was right, you are all I’m going to have someday and I wouldn’t want it any other way. May the next 75 years live up to the first 25. To me, you are perfect.
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