Feet are ugly. It's just really hard to get past that, unless maybe you're a foot model, in which case I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to do things like walk barefoot on the grass or wear flip-flops or run 30 miles a week. So I think I'm okay with the fact that I'm not a foot model, because foot models miss out on a lot. But it means that, like most people in the world, I have to learn to cope with having ugly feet. Having overlapping toes and size 11 feet doesn't help, nor do the running callouses or the oddly-shaped nails on my little toes. But I cope. And today I'm going to take a giant step towards having positive toe self-esteem. I am going to post a picture of my feet on my blog.
Actually, what I really want to write about is my little sister. I feel sort of compelled to write something about here today, because in approximately 36 hours I am going to have to give up part of my claim to her undying devotion. His name is Garth and he's a good guy and I don't begrudge him for stealing away my sister's heart, but I'm pretty sure there's a part of her heart that he will never steal away, the part of her heart that wants more than anything to stay up late dancing to ABBA and painting toenails.
The advantage of having a big sister is that she is supposed to be able to teach you important things like how to do your hair and makeup, how to give yourself a French manicure, how to win the affections of young men. I feel that I failed my sister in this sense (although I succeeded in getting her to wear dangly earrings - once). She is more likely than I am to dispense dating wisdom (though I call into question some of her suggestions), and neither of us seems to have inherited the innate sense of girliness that we were supposed to be born with, although we certainly try. Tonight we attempted to give ourselves pedicures in preparation for Saturday's wedding. This involved pajamas, lots of singing, a great deal of water on the bathroom floor, and nail polish in places where nail polish is most definitely not supposed to be ("sorry about that," says Kelsey as she watches me type). But I think we were mildly successful, and that's sufficient since our shoes hide most of our toes.
Seriously, though, it's good to spend some quality sister time with Kelsey. Things are going to be different when she is married, but I have never really worried that the permanent addition of a young man in her life is going to get in the way of our relationship. Somehow in her 21 years of life she has gone from being my baby sister to my best friend, and I have never felt anything but happy for her as she's prepared for this next phase of her life. I wish her all the best for Saturday, and the many years she has ahead of her, and I hope she always knows how much I love her.
And I think perhaps we ought to have a few more pedicure parties in the years to come so that she is prepared to pass down at least some feminine wisdom to her own daughters :).
1 comment:
The advantage of having a big sister is that she is supposed to be able to teach you important things like how to do your hair and makeup, how to give yourself a French manicure, how to win the affections of young men. I feel that I failed my sister in this sense (although I succeeded in getting her to wear dangly earrings - once).
I feel similarly about my brother: somehow, with absolutely no example or instruction from me, he's not only a hard worker but a social machine. It reassures me that I probably won't be able to screw up my kids too badly.
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