I'm sitting here at work thinking about you and how old we both are now.
Seriously, we could just die. Any minute. My joints hurt just thinking about it. And I'm pretty sure I can feel my arteries calcifying, because what are arteries if they aren't slowly turning to stone?
And I remember the day Dad came to pick me up from the neighbor's house, when he told me about you--my new baby brother.
All I could think in that moment was, "Gee, I could use some more of those little rainbow marshmallows." And, "I hope I can stay until this episode of Care Bears is done before I have to go home."
I have matured since then.
But I could go for some of those marshmallows right about now.
Today, on your birthday, I can tell you you rock as a brother. My childhood would not have been half so entertaining without all our inside jokes ("WHERE IS MY SON?!!"). And I should tell you that I love you enough that I'm not going to sit at home all night knitting and watching Gilmore Girls (care to join?), but instead I am willing to pull myself together and go with you to a seedy bar and watch you drink while I get tipsy on the fumes of alcohol wafting through the air. Then I will drive you home and let you play WOW wasted (yeah, right), with hilarious consequences. And when the three-hundredth gnome has killed you, I will mock you openly as you stagger away from the keyboard in defeat.
That is what sisters are for.
If you think I'm going to comfort you when you throw up arroz con pollo, you are dead wrong.
Your loving sis,