She is beautiful.
Not kidding.
She is the most photogenic person I have ever met: dark, thick, luscious brown hair, stunningly shaped eyes, defined features, short enough to wear high heels and not be six feet tall, and a personality that puts all of her outward beauty to shame because it is so LOUD and EXCITING.
And her life reads like fiction.
You'd have to know to her to believe it.
Don't just take my word for it; catch a glimpse at her resume:
- Ran a fever of 106 when she was a baby (perhaps that started it all)
- Got bitten by a bald eagle when she was four
- Ran over a baby duck on her way to work one summer
- Got attacked by a swallow while weeding my mom's flower beds (the bird gave her the biggest shiner we'd ever seen)
- Got her tonsils out when she was twelve. Went to the doctor last month and found out they had grown back (the odds of that happening are one in a million).
- Had a nightmare about spiders while she was in college. Ended up sleepwalking and hitting her head so hard that she needed stitches. While a couple of her roommates ran her to the emergency room, the others woke up to blood trailing from her room to the front door. They were a little freaked out by the bloody handprints on the wall. I would be too.
- Had a legit brain tumor (don't worry, it wasn't cancerous. We named him Winston). Has also had her gall bladder removed. That is as far as I will delve into her medical history for you. Said legit brain tumor is also growing back. She's good at growing things back, apparently.
- Got into a fight with her car door one very frosty morning. The car door won and gave her a concussion and a fractured face (with a good shiner, but not as good as the one the bird gave her).
Note: most of these things have happened within the last two years. And this is just a sampling. Wouldn't want to ruin that bestseller she is sure to write someday.
So, a few days ago, when I received a text with a picture of her wrist in a brace and a message that said "I guess no more water polo for Liz =( thanks to my teammate for breaking my knuckle and sprang my wrist and middle finger..."
Scott and I just laughed and said, "oh Liz."
Other common responses are "poor Liz" and "man, your life sucks." We are very supportive siblings.
Also, compared to her, we lead very boring lives. Okay, so maybe my older brother doesn't. He goes to law school and lives on the East Coast and played college football. And maybe my little brother is just getting started in life and is so witty that his life will be awesome just because he was born that way (which is undoubtedly why my parents stopped at him).
So I guess that leaves me as the boring sibling. What adventures have I had? Let's see...one broken bone. Right arm, age 3, "I falled off the couch." One genetically mutated pinky (which has led to my over-anxious habit of worrying about Kevin's pinkies whenever they are bent while the other four fingers are straight). Bone spurs on my feet that mean I can't wear high heels ever again unless I want to get foot surgery. Occasional sleep talking, during which I usually teach gospel lessons to teenagers. Diabetes, hypothyroidism giving birth eight weeks early (my medical history, while much shorter, is infinitely boring in comparison).
I went skinny dipping once.
(You're supposed to be impressed by that.)
So what am I getting at with this week's blog post?
Truthfully, I don't really know. That's why I write. To figure out stuff I can't figure out in my head, so I have to let my fingers do the talking. Because when your fingers do the talking, sometimes you are forced into looking at truths you only wanted to ignore before.
So, let's start here: I am jealous of my little sister. She would probably be shocked to hear it, but it's been no secret to me my whole life. She's the exciting one. She was expected to make mistakes while I tried as hard as I could to be perfect and failed miserably. She always got the cool presents at Christmas. My parents would buy her books because she refused to read them. I, on the other hand, never got new books because I read them too fast (apparently too fast to really enjoy them), so a trip to the library every other week would suffice. She got to eat way more chocolate chips than me because she always needed more help with her homework, which meant that my mom played the betting game more with her than with me. She likes to exercise. I hate it. She will spend money on frivolous things (like jewelry, purses, shoes, and clothes). I can't justify it and feel too guilty, so I don't. I would like to have a closet that looks as awesome as hers, but I don't. I hate how I look in a swimsuit, which means I would never have her bravery to become a lifeguard, or try out for the swim team, let alone practice with a university water polo team (I watched the Olympics; that sport is brutally nasty!)
She was the first child in our family to buy her own car. Ever since I had to endure the embarrassment of driving the family minivan to high school, I have always wanted to buy myself a car. For a multitude of reasons, I never managed it. Neither did my older brother. We both came into vehicles by virtue of marriage. I never really got to feel independent from my parents, because I came by "financial freedom" (note the sarcastic quotations) by virtue of changing my last name. My husband helped me finish paying for school, and now he works to support us while I stay home with Kevin. And while I love what I do, and my husband is so awesome about taking care of my every need and whim (like the seven seasons of Boy Meets World that we bought last weekend with some Christmas money)...I sometimes miss the feeling of being able to earn and spend my own money.
So this week's post is not about being content (which I usually am). It's about me being jealous of my little sister's broken middle finger, which means she can't flip the bird to anyone who ticks her off. I don't think I've ever flipped anyone off in my life, but that is beside the point.
Why?
Because her life reads like good fiction, which means it would read like unbelievable, excellent non-fiction.
Mine does not.
But that's okay.
I can write about Liz's life for her....because she has a broken knuckle and a sprained wrist and can't type anything at the moment.
I guess that means I lucked out.
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