Sisters and their wives...

My sister is a strange creature. She alternates between calling me "tublet" and pulling my cheeks to actually getting pissy when I can't spend enough time with her. (The latter I don't quite blame her for since it has been a while). She gets highly buzzed on a single sip of coffee while I invariably end up snoozing after a nice, tall, steaming cup of my Mom's filter nectar. She giggles when she uses what she calls "big" words like 'nuanced' and then goes on to critique the cut, colour and fabric of a particularly nice jacket I want to acquire in terms that even the most hardened fashion critic would be hard pressed to follow. She drives like a seasoned F1 driver when drunk and manages to keep falling off stairs when sober. Once she pulled me down with her on of these sober sojourns up her stairs and we both ended up in a tumbled heap on the floor below laughing our collective behinds off at her mom's amusedly shocked expression. She and my mother talk about my sex life when my mom doesn't even ask ME about it (imagine that!) and she has a decidedly uncanny knack of knowing when the men in my life are utter idiots.  She also has the ability to make me lose all sense of perspective which has resulted in life changing experiences such as contemplating strawberry tart and upending a half bottle of a really beautiful full bodied Chianti into pasta sauce. (The recipe said one or two tablespoons, I said, "what the hell...")

She has a wife, who calls her Wifelet.. (now I know where she gets the tublet idea from!!!) who is as different from her as she can be. My sisters wife (also my best friend by the way) doesn't wear any other colour other than indigo, shades of black, duller shades of brown and white and carries around a gorgeous deep purple hued leather bag that her wife gifted her. She survives on tea and her 2 kg (brand new!!) weights and an everpresent book ( a trait I share with her). She also has the most beautiful sense of aesthetics when it comes to poetry and a most acerbic tongue which completely disappears when she's with us, and makes quite a seminal appearance in public interaction. She and I discuss Lacan and his definitely misplaced sense of jouissance while my sister bops to Susheela Raman while cutting my hair. (My sister has a great affinity for cutting people's hair.. She's quite good at it too.. Look at me:))

Together they are the most dissonantly perfect people I have ever met, together or separately. And they make life worth living. I love them dearly even when they threaten to dump their children on me so that I can raise them with some 'discipline' *Muttersgrumblessnarls: "Discipline my ass!!muttermuttermutter* To my sister and her wife... what strange beautiful people.