“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it's true I'm here, and I'm just as strange as you.”
― Frida Kahlo

Only, I think I already know that person.  I think I've known her my entire life.  I think I'm related to her.

She's my sister.

A few days ago my sister sent me a text that read:

I was talking to a friend at work today and she was telling me a funny story about her sister.  I said, "Aren't you glad you have a sister?"  As weird and quirky as we can be, only a sister can understand (and top it)!

Thems words done be true!

Several years ago my sister was painting her living room for the thousandth time.  Maybe it was her kitchen.  Or a bathroom.  Or a bedroom.  Doesn't matter.  The seasons had changed so she was painting something or the other.  My sister paints rooms in her house more than the average bear.  More than the average budding artist even.  My point here is she is a seasoned vet.  Yet, she (like me) is not known for being a tidy painter.  She generally advertises the new color of her wall on her clothes and skin.  Generally there is a mess to clean up.  I'm not judging, you see...I'm just the same.  I'm just setting you all up for the story here...

My sister was painting and got paint all over her favorite shoes.  

Pause while you think about that....

Are you thinking, "Why was she wearing her favorite shoes while painting?"

Most people did think that.  And when my sister told people of her mishap that's what they said.  Time and time again.

"Why were you wearing you favorite shoes while painting?"

It's a fair question if you think about it. Even my sister and I agree on that. It's a fair question. 

But, I didn't wonder that...In fact,  it never crossed my mind to ask that.

Here's what I said:

"I HATE when that happens!"

I do.  I do hate when that happens.  And I've ruined many a favorite clothing or shoe item while painting in it.

Why? 

I don't know.  And my sister doesn't know either.  It doesn't make sense to be wearing your favorite anything whilst painting.  But, my sister gets it.  And I get her.   Like I said - True words she texted.

I also understood (and laughed heartily) when she bought her son a new mattress and tied it to the roof  of her car to bring home.  Only, she had the doors closed and windows opened when she did it.  So...She tied her car doors shut.  I get it.  I GET it. 

And she gets me. 

When I moved in my house I had a full sized bed with a full sized box spring.  My bedroom is a converted attic - The house is considered 1.5 stories, I think,  and the stairs are steep, steep, steep.  Our brother tried carrying the box spring up the stairs and declared it impossible.  Too steep.  Didn't fit.

The SECOND he left to return the rental truck, my sister and I tried carrying it up.  Sure he was wrong.  We declared ourselves "Stella and Stella Movers" and we were going to get the job done.  Stella I grabbed one end...Stella II grabbed the other and we set up the stairs.  A second later the box spring was stuck in the door jam.

He was right, evidently.  It didn't fit.

t would never fit.  But, we had to try.  We GOT each other.  Sister thing.

So yesterday it was raining here.  Pouring even.  After school I rushed to the library for my tutoring gig and it was pouring rain.  By some miracle I had an umbrella in my car.  I never have an umbrella in my car.  But I did, so I opened it.  In my car.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.  It was POURING outside and if I opened it OUTSIDE then I'd be the pouring rain while I opened it.  If I opened it IN the car I could put it outside the door and slip myself under it whilst gathering my tutoring things from the car.  Dry.  A winning solution.

You probably know what happened.  It probably would be perfectly obvious to you.  But, it wasn't to me.  And it wouldn't have been to my sister as well.

I will say this - Lucille Ball would have been proud.

Naturally things didn't go as planned.  As so carefully and wisely planned.

Cue the "I Love Lucy" music.  Call in Ethel. 

The sequence of events is clouded by my pride, but suffice it to say that I was a little bit Lucille Ball. Suffice it to say there was a flailing of black nylon and shiny metal as I tried (without success) to swing that thing from the passenger side of the car, across the dashboard, and out the driver side door.  Suffice it to say that I put on a show for the man sitting in his car across from me waiting out the downpour.  Suffice it to say, I did not succeed.  Picture it -  Umbrella flying around hitting things and getting stuck in the door jam.  Me pulling umbrella back in and trying it again.    The umbrella spokes poked me in the head. Pull umbrella again.  Spokes of umbrella get  all tangled up in my hair.  I let umbrella dangle from my hair as I set my pulled back hair free and untangle myself.

Finally I'm free and I gracefully collapse the offending umbrella.  Smile large in an efort to convince the person who was waiting out the downpour that I MEANT for that to happen.  You know - In case he was watching.   Then I step into the rain and open the umbrella. 

Worked like a charm.

And all the while I'm thinking..."My sister will so get this."

And guess what?

She does. 

Goodness I love having a sister.