Random Thoughts

[auntbijou]

I was just reading over one of my earliest journal entries, back from when Hurricane Rita hit Texas, and I was facing an influx of relatives from Houston all seeking to escape from mandatory evacuation zones.  Of course, most of them didn't make it here, because evacuation plans from Houston were all done back in the 1950's, when the population was much smaller, and the highways out were at a standstill for hours.  Most of our family just stayed put, and those who got out on the road at 5 and 6 a.m. didn't arrive here until 3 a.m. the following morning.  

But that's not the point of this journal.  It's just setting up the story, so to speak.  What had me chuckling was reading about my second oldest sister calling me from inside her bedroom closet because she was hiding from our oldest niece, who is just, well... scary.  Shoot, if they had all made it here, I can guarantee you that my second oldest sister and I would have been hiding in a closet in my old house TOGETHER!  What caught my attention was the name I attached to her.  "The Beautiful Sister."  I snorted, then thought, okay, that's sort of true.  My oldest sister is the practical one, the middle sister is the beautiful one, and I'm the oddball, or the black sheep.  I come by it honest, since both of my parents are black sheep as well.  Baaaa!!

Anyhow, I am the youngest of three sisters.  Yes, my father lived in a House of Women (sounds like a prison movie, doesn't it?  And to make it worse... he's a Marine.  Can you imagine what dating was like for us?  Horrors!).  He is probably the only male on the planet who puts the seat down after he uses the toilet... well, aside from the Husbandly One.  You want to know why the Husbandly One does it?  Because my dad clapped him on the shoulder before we got married and said, "Son, I have one piece of advice for you about how to live in a peaceful household with my daughter.  Always put the seat down, because let me tell you, at 2 a.m., that water is awfully damned cold!"

Wanna know the story behind that one?  Okay, Dad was sort of careless about putting the seat down.  He was very resistant to it, probably because he was the only male in the house, and it was his way of rebelling or showing the hens who the rooster was or some such.  Silly really.  Well, you have to understand, I was an accident.  My sisters were teenagers when I was born (yes, there is a purpose to this, just shut up, sit down and be patient already!), and mighty put out they were about it, too!  Okay, so shoot forward a few years to me being potty-trained.  My sisters and my parents had to make trips at night with me to lead my sleepy little self into the bathroom.  I was really tiny, and they had to balance me carefully on the big people's potty so I didn't fall in (y'all can kinda see where this is going, can't you?)  Because of Daddy's refusal to put the dad-gum seat down, falling in was a frequent occurance to me, and I got to where I didn't want to go at night, because we were all too sleepy to notice if the seat was up or down (at least, that's how my sister's tell it.  I'm pretty sure I was adamant about checking, and got over-ruled).  Well, one night in January, during a cold snap, Daddy got up to do his nightly middle of the night piss, and shambled back to bed, only to realize he needed to go back fora  sit down job.  As usual, he'd left the seat up, so when he returned and sat down, he got a very rude awakening, and I'm sure his yell was heard all the way out to the Heights!  Needless to say, he never, ever left the seat down again.  Nothing like icy cold water to sharpen the memory!

So, I'm the youngest of three sisters.  The Practical Sister and I have the same hair color (brownish-red) and some of the same characteristics, but she's more reserved than I am, and has no fear of telling it exactly like it is.  She also has a tendency to see the glass as half-empty.  People look at us, and will say, "Yeah, I can see you're both sisters," but they stop at that.   The Beautiful Sister has blonde hair, green eyes and fair skin, and we are as physically different as night and day.  But when people meet us, they say, "Oh, you two are most definitely sisters!  You both have a streak of mischief a mile wide, I can see that just looking at both of you!"  Our personalities are a lot alike, and we get along better, especially as conspirators, than either of us do with the Practical Sister.  If we're sitting together, talking quietly, and start giggling maniacally, be afraid, be very afraid, because then we are definitely Up To Something.  

The ironic thing in this is, the Practical Sister isn't surprised that I know how to cook.  The Beautiful Sister is.  This is perhaps because the Beautiful Sister is the kind of cook who can barely tolerate anyone helping her in the kitchen unless the helper is doing a very specific task and asks constantly for her input.  Emeril Lagasse could be assisting her in the kitchen, and she wouldn't trust him one yard.  She can't help it.  But she doesn't mind if you help her clean up, no matter how you want to do it, whatever way is fine with her.  The Practical Sister, however, while she doesn't mind how stuff gets cooked, just so long as it gets cooked and tastes right, is the sort that wants things cleaned up in a very specific way.  Me?  I don't care how you help me cook, as long as it gets cooked and tastes right, and oh, you are a darling for helpin' me clean up, just as long as it's clean, that is just fine by me!  

The Beautiful Sister is constantly surprised by me.  That I fold clothes so precisely (hello, we were raised by the same parents!) and put them away.  That I fuss at my kids' table manners, or lack thereof.  That I'm insistent on healthy snacks and that I even know what those are.  I have come to the conclusion that despite all evidence to the contrary, the Beautiful Sister is convinced I am permanently fourteen years old.  

...sigh...

Do you know, they only call me by my full name when they want something?  And they're always surprised when I say, "Okay, what do you want?"  It's a struggle not to laugh at times.  Otherwise, they call me by my diminuitive, and I have to laugh at that, too.  It's a good thing I love them, isn't it?   I prefer the dim. anyway.  Whenever anyone tries to call me by my full name, I turn around to see who they're talking to.  Even the Husbandly One, in the entire time we've been married, only calls me by the short version, though when we were first dating, he said it made him feel like he was dating a guy (because it's a boy's name).  And when he'd talk about me to his friends, they'd look at him funny, and when they met me, they'd look at him even funnier.  But he says I don't  fit my full name, I fit the short name, and that's just fine with me.  Same with my sisters.  They're so used to their tomboy sister, the oddball, and I guess calling me by the full version is their way of ensuring my undivided attention.  

Well, this is getting long, and I must go to bed.  I'm thinking too hard, avoiding writing, because I'm at an impasse.  My main character is sitting in a corner, sulking and ignoring me, so... I'll have to wait until he comes out of it so I can figure out what's wrong.  Don't you just hate it when you do that?  Sleepy-time, over and out!