Sometimes, nobody gets you like your sister.
Sometimes the most sisterly thing one can do is to offer to perform amateur surgery. It’s also reason number eleventy billion three hundred thousand and seven why I love my sister.
Sometimes, you text your sibs to remind them that they each owe you 20$ for your mom’s birthday wheelbarrow. (What? She wanted a wheelbarrow.) And for some unfathomable reason the entire thing devolves into you and your sister taking turns rewriting the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody about mom and her garden.
For the record, there was no booze involved. At least, not on my part, anyway.
While I’m off traipsing around New Orleans, I thought I’d share another series of texts from my sister, Cait. This cracked me up – in fact, I was so amused, I had to read it to my brother Andrew. He actually giggled. It was adorable.
Some of you know that my baby sister moved to New York to live with a friend. Well…they also have roommates – a married couple who have kids and a (questionable) nanny. Especially questionable since the mother doesn’t work outside the home and no one really watches (or feeds) the kids. Well, you know…except Cait.
Anyway, here’s the deluge of texts I got last night. Can’t wait to go for a visit and meet these
I was running some errands this afternoon and talking to Cait while I was driving (no worries – hands free ear piece and mic) and I passed a sign I’d never seen before.
Me: I just passed a sign that said “International Drinks”.
Me: And I thought it said “Institutional Drinks”.
Cait: I bet that tastes like orange Tang.
Me: And Xanax.
Okay, so this episode of Texts from Cait requires a little set-up.
Our mom is the most absent minded of absent minded professors. She’s a brilliant woman, but easily distracted. Once, she accidentally washed a load of laundry with syrup because she had that in her hand when she wandered into the laundry room. She loses her glasses while they’re on her face and her keys while they’re in her hand. She’s driven off more times than I can count with a cup of tea (or her purse) on the roof of the car. Sometimes, I’ll come home to discover that she’s stopped by and my jug of milk is in my cupboard. This is just the one we have. So the following really shouldn’t have been a surprise.
(The first part of this is Cait relaying a conversation with mom.)