Sisters. The joy, the delight, the trials, and the trouble of growing up with a sister. Sibling rivalry is a tough road to travel, but most sisters go there, no matter how much they love each other. The fighting isn’t part of the plan, but it’s almost always part of the experience.
My sister is a talented woman. Our talents are the least of our problems, and I don’t think either of us lacks any confidence in that area of our lives. She’s got a particular style that carries through in anything she attempts, and I’ve got a very different style that carries through in my artistic ventures. Seldom do our skills overlap in any given area, although we both use some of the same mediums.
The problems arise when others dare to meddle in our tea. Mind you, we both like our tea, quite differently prepared. I like my tea hot or cold, with lemon and honey or a little cream, and she prefers hers as coffee, black. We bicker and fight over inane subjects, topics that matter none at all, or worse… over misunderstandings, but no matter what, no matter when, no matter how, when push comes to shove… she’s still my sister.
Which reminds me of an old saying (probably from some 1950’s movie I’ve watched)…
Don’t you dare… pick on my sister, mister!