If I had a sister, she would be taller than me.

And older.  I’d be the curvy one.  She’d be the long legs, straight up and down one.  Her hair would be darker, longer and not as thick as mine.  Her eyes would be rounder, bigger, with more green, actually her eyes would be green.

She would love her feet and have an obsession with Chapstick and bracelets.  My sister would hate the rain.  She’d have a dimple too.  If I had a sister, she would have a party laugh, love cheese, and always eat the olive first from her martini.

She would have a foul mouth just like me, but she would try to control it.  Just like me.  She would sit on the counter too much and tell painfully long stories.

We would dance.  Talk our ears numb, people watch, bitch, and hug.  We would hug a lot.  She would like the movies, but different movies than me.  We would tell each other all the things everyone else lied about.  My sister would piss me off, our fights would get loud and ugly sometimes, but we would make-up over pancakes because life wouldn’t do without her.

She would live in a city.  A cool city, in an apartment with lots of windows and traffic sounds.  She would wear white shirts, have paint on her hands, and always twist a pencil in her hair.  My sister would be married to a guy that liked to read big books and take her for pizza.  They would have an old couch and a coatrack by the front door.

She would be a nervous thinker, an occasional smoker, and always prefer an outside table.  She would charge into life with her whole heart, and when it broke, which would happen sometimes, I would help her gather the pieces, but she would glue them back together.

If I had a sister, she would sprinkle glitter on my world and we would share an umbrella.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  You Asleep Yet?

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