florence.

I have a niece now.

 

 

And she's beautiful and perfect and my sister doing great as well. Florence, my niece, weighed almost ten pounds, so if you think about it, my sister accomplished a pretty impressive feat in growing and delivering such a pudgy little bundle of life. We all love her, which is a given, and we all want to hold and talk to her practically every waking moment. So basically, baby Florence is a hot commodity.

 

They're due to be able to go home tonight, and I think everyone is really ready for that.

 

I'll probably be darkening my sister's doorstep frequently enough that I just miss the 'worn out my welcome' mark until I make my departure for the west.

 

Family will be swarming in the next few weeks like paparazzi to catch a glimpse of our newest addition, which will be equal parts lovely and overwhelming for the new family of three, I'm sure.

 

But you know, in my constantly clicking, worrying, fretting, half-crazy mind, this all has been a best-case-scenario situation.

 

Welcome baby Florence, I know you'll bring with you the prosperity your name promises. 

Love, Aunt Sara

abundance.

When I think of my sister and I, it's always us as children and it's always stained in shades of turquoise and sun-bleached blond. Us in sandy bathing suits with chubby red thighs. We're always damp with lake water or covered in crumbs from sandwiches on the deck. We're always in the peak of summer and we're always at the lake cottage. I think of us with rope marks from the hammock imprinted on the backs of our legs and arms, with flour gone awry on our faces as we stand on stepping stools so that we can see the cookies we're making with our Nan on the counter top, or searching for petosky stones in the clear shallow water.

 

When I think of my sister and I, we're practically babies, alabama wild women with hair flying artfully astray and butterfly nets in tow. We are never wearing shoes. We are drinking ginger-ale out of rocks glasses while the adults, freshly changed and combed to perfection, sit down for cocktail hour together out on the porch at five o'clock. We're making giant nests out of pine needles. We're collecting berries on the long gravel driveway, covered in shade.

 

If we're getting along at all, we're always at the lake.

 

I was kind of a bitch to my sister when we were kids and my family likes to remind me of this constantly, but my own memory has sort of edited all of that out. I mean, who wants to remember themselves as a bully when I was always also equal parts precocious and adventure-starved?

 

She was always my baby sister, equal parts partner and ball-and-chain. That's what I remember.

 

I've spent somewhere around the past nine months watching my sister do something I've never done, grow a baby. She is my only sister and this will be the first baby to come from the team of four that my parents reared. It changes everything. It changes nothing. We're a family. We grow. We care for each other. There is no other way but to consume and apply each new development as we evolve and expand, push out the edges just a little further to find that there was always plenty of room for more. To find that it was never a question of needing to stretch to grow, but rather unrolling the magic carpet we're flying on a little bit more. There's always so much more love than we ever knew held in the reserves, waiting to be implemented.

 

Still, it's hard for me to think about us being grown enough to have children of our own. We're old enough to be in charge of something so important now. That fact is terrifying when I remember us as practically babies so easily, I can conjure a vivid memory with minimal effort. It's so good back there, so little needed to be repressed. Of course I can call upon it for comfort when I need it.  And it's easy to find comfort in the fact that we are the product of happy childhoods. We felt love and encouragement in abundance.

 

 

Abundance.

 

 

I always think of that word when I think of my childhood. I love that word because it signifies some sort of more-than-enough, it whispers 'above and beyond' without feeling too braggy and in-your-face. Sure, it's a little pretentious, but it turns out I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to childhood, so be it. It's not about money because we were certainly not rich. Maybe it's about safety, or plenty of laughter, or eating a balanced diet. Maybe it's about rules and boundaries or the kisses-per-scraped-knee ratio. Whatever it is, it's all I know.

 

I guess I could mention that today is the day that my sister will actually have her first child, and I'm tripping out over the excitement of it. Seeing the preparation that goes into introducing a new human into the world and family unit has been eye-opening, and frankly, exhausting. I can only imagine the feat that growing one inside your body actually is. My sister has made it look easy, as she does with most tasks that she dives into head first. She is decisive, rarely squeamish, and self assured in her decisions. She was a ballerina for most of her childhood and maybe that instilled a sort of grace of spirit that she retains in even her smallest actions. She grows constantly and stubbornly, like one of the wildflowers we'd pluck out of sandy soil and stick haphazardly in our hair.

 

Although I relish in change and chase unsure paths, I do so in an almost constant state of near-panic and neurotocism. I approach every situation steeled for catastrophe while my sister floats through still and stormy sea with the same quiet, calm determination no matter how high the stakes.

 

She will be a good mother, there's absolutely no doubt in that.

 

I can't help it though, the way that I am. The way I need to worry myself with logistics and trivial details until I'm far enough away from the situation that I can process everything that has happened. I can't help but feel like something is somehow out of my hands and then work myself into a frenzy about it until there is, quite literally, a healthy baby in my hands and I can from there formulate a course of action. Even if that is just to stick my finger in a tiny palm for them to grasp onto. No one has told me where and stand and what to say for this one.

 

I can't help but work with what I know. What I know was a happy childhood. What I know is love that is loud and messy and sometimes allow to run a bit wild. What I know is abundance.

 

What I do not know is this title "Aunt." What to do with it. What the duties being passed to me will entail exactly.

 

Maybe the best I can hope for is to pass on what I know.

feeling sassy.

I'm ready to get through this week and start celebrating my little sister's lifetime commitment!

This time on Thursday I'll be getting ready to dip my toes into bubbling hot water for a much needed pedi. Wedding weekend is almost in session!

a toast for my sister.

As I've mentioned a few times now, my little sister is getting married in three short weeks.

Since somewhere in the book of sisterly duties it says that big sisters are maid of honor material, I am maid of honor material. And even if I'm not, I will simply have to do. There are times that I look back at my mother tying us together at 9 and 7 in a futile effort to force us to learn how to get along with one another and I have to laugh because somehow, we arrived here.

(Yes, she seriously tied us together with pieces of fabric. We weren't harmed. She untied us for bed, but left us together for meals. Our father traveled a lot for work. I think she was pretty ingenuitive.)

We have now arrived at the point where we don't have to be tied together with fabric to understand that even without the knots, we're held together by some strange force that comes from growing up side by side, enduring all the weird and terrible things that happen within a family everyday.  Upon inspection, the weird and terrible might not really be so weird and terrible, but you'd never dare compare it with anyone. We shared the weirdness. We are sisters. We'll always be tied together.

You should know that everything about my sister happens in a whirlwind. She's a tornado that tears through town and stirs things up. She'll level one house and barely leave the one next door a breeze. She'll rage in a fury and deceive you with her eye in the center, only to flare back up almost immediately with a vengeance. She is a force of her own, she needs no source and doesn't follow and pattern or a logic. She never lacks energy, creativity, or originality and has never sought approval or pats on the head from authority.

She is my only sister. She is all I have to go on as sisterly relationships go. In some ways we mirror each other and in as many more, you'd never believe we came from the same family. At times, our relationship has been volatile. I was a bossy and bitchy child, hell bent on having my own way despite the desires of anyone else. My sister has had bouts of self destruction and moments where I am to blame for any wrong that ever came looking for her. Yet with everything we've gone through and everything that has happened,  we find ways to love each other more and our relationship grows stronger every day- despite all of the things we'll never forgive each other for; there will probably always be those things between sisters.

We are sisters, we are at times each others worst enemies and at times each others only ally. I know no better way to describe the teetering balance in the relationship of female siblings. The bar swings heavy one way or another between the two poles, and you're still stuck with each other. Sometimes it's a happy accident and sometimes it's a sentence you'll never live long enough to serve.

She is my sister, and I love her.

But what will I say in my speech in three weeks?

It's too much to try to express it all in a few short moments, all my hope and congratulations, with guests barely listening as they peer longingly down their flutes, waiting to make contact with the bubbly nectar teasing their lips. I know my family, trust that they love their champagne.

Maybe it'll mean nothing to them as I pour out the story of my first decipherable memory, the day my sister was born. I wasn't even three years old, but I remember details from that day, tidbits of realization that no one could have painted for my memory. I'll start my speech with that fact, maybe pepper in some details. My parents will nudge each other and smile knowingly, because they know that's my first memory, of course they do.

They'll lean over their table and mouth to the family members they're seated with, "She remembers it because she's never forgiven us for not making her an only child!" And there will be muffled laughter, but by then I'll already be explaining how that's not the way I see it.

The way I see it, in life there are moments that stick out like sore thumbs. They can be raw, embarrassing, make your heart skip a beat, or cause you to cry out, but they change you, alter something untouchable but true. They're vivid and bright and significant because of what they do to shape you, and everything afterward that you do, think, or say is slightly influenced by that single slot in time. The moment I met my sister was one of those slots.

My sister's presence in my world has shaped it. She has made me stronger, made me feel deeply, weakened my resolve at times, challenged me, made me hate myself, and taught me so much about life and love. She is an anchor that hasn't let up or allowed me to blow away since she planted herself deep into my person. My sister, she is a part of me. A pivotal part, the first thing I've loved constantly and consistently that wasn't provided for me at birth. That's a long affair.

I'll try to explain it all and fall short and start fumbling a little over words. I'll look Matt over at for comfort and instantly regret it and start getting heady with emotion. The express lane straight to hysterics.

I'll mention that I bet her new husband remembers the exact moment Hurricane Beth blew into his life and the ensuing battle to catch and contain her. I'll warn him of what he already knows- not to discuss anything serious for at least an hour after you get her out of bed and the like, but not too much. I'll commend him for holding her attention and winning her peculiar heart. I'll plead with him to try his best to help their relationship grow and blossom the way that I know in my heart she'll do hers. And then I'll thank him for being the man it takes to gently and sometimes not-so-gently handle my sister's mind, soul, heart, and body.

And then I'll thank my sister for being the first to know how to gently and sometimes not-so-gently handle my mind, soul, heart, and body. I'll tell her I love her and I'll cheers to a happy and laughter-filled life. I'll joke about nieces and nephews and the revenge I'll get on her through spoiling them unforgivably. I'll chug two glasses of champagne and smile my biggest smile.

And then I'll march straight to the bathroom, lock myself into a stall, rest my hair-sprayed head on my thighs and weep.

Because she is my sister, and I love her.

Sara

triumphant return from the dredges of stress. thanks, part 5.

So, it's Wednesday. Which is Thank You day, but I've taken two weeks off at this point. I'm thinking it's kind of a 'Do it or desert it' kind of thing, so I'm going to do itttt.

Plus I've been kind of sad-sacky lately, aka convincing myself I'm more stressed out than I am and making things waaaaaaaay more complicated than they have to be. So, maybe gratitude and cheerful reflection are necessary elements at this point.

Ta da!:

Colly,

You are my sister. I know, I know, we both already have sisters. And our sisters are wonderful and I love all of them, yours and mine. But, saying you are my friend doesn't quite do it justice for me, so you are my sister, the sister that I was fortunate enough to find and lucky enough to hold onto even though life likes to keep us apart for seemingly endless spans of time. Thanks for holding onto your end of the string, always. I've got a firm grasp on my end.

The thing that's interesting to me is that we haven't killed each other yet. Two summers on Drama Island can burn to a crisp even the most regaled friendships, but somehow, some way, we've managed to forge something stronger, never even knowing each other prior to that first ferry ride. It's amazing to think back to the first moments and days of our friendship, because at this point I honestly don't even associate it with the Island anymore. But we did meet there, in a sun (and booze) drenched haze- and per usual, we're always the last two standing.

It was drunk love at first night. We both have the tendency to get a little carried away, take it just a touch further than it needs to go. Or miles further than it should go. We always look out for each other, though, so it works out. But really, we've probably legitimately saved each others' lives. Yeahhhhhh, obligatory mention of my twenty-first birthday. We'd known each other what, a month? Two? You got me in that pizza delivery cart and made that dude haul my ass back home and gave a little "You're on my shit list and you're THE ONLY ONE ON IT" speech to that creepy kid that bought me all those shots when you walked away to grab me some pizza and tried to take me home. True friend. Thanks for that, God knows someone had to help me. We'll leave it at that.

We've got so many good times,  and they warm me in my coldest moments. I can conjure in an instant memories of morning horoscopes with Ms. Bigar,  Oberons outdoors, a bicycle built for two, traipsing around Chicago with Mere that sunny summer weekend, and making every cab ride THE MOST FUN cab ride ever. We've stayed (and not stayed) in swanky hotels, cried in movie theaters, celebrated many a Halloween together, and recovered from hangovers while lounging with books, looking out at lakes and pools.

You're funny. SO funny. Effortlessly, not in a way that requires putting on an act or slapstick shticks. Just offhand sarcastic comments that get me and little things like slapping hand sanitizer into your hair when waking up five minutes before a shift starts. How did we ever survive rushing around and running out the door in our dirty uniforms after falling into bed at dawn almost every morning for two summers? God, it was fun. Thanks for always making me laugh, and for always having a retort to drunk assholes.

I never really understood why people would always come up to us and ask if we were sisters, but it's probably our mannerisms more than our looks. We've both got attitude, an easygoing looks. I've always been jealous though,  you've got such great features. Irish-white perfect skin and naturally dark hair. Lucky biotch. The awkward "Nope, not sisters, HALF BIRTHDAY TWINS!" always come next. All part of our appeal.

We're the best. 

We've had strained moments, too, which I look at as the tests life throws out to see how strong things really are. I still remember how fucking PISSED you were at me that time when your parents were visiting and you were showing them our apartment and you opened the door to show them our tiny little box of a bedroom with two twin beds, all the furniture touching and barely enough closet space to hang a quarter of our clothes up- and there I was with my total deadbeat of a boyfriend, fresh out of the shower and just lying around naked...on top of each other. I'm chuckling right now, thinking of the look on your face. Have I mentioned how sorry I am for that lately? Thank G your parents were still at the bottom of the stairs. I can also recall a certain time that you showed up to your server shift to relieve me after *ahem* spending the afternoon at the winery. That was tense, but how could I really be mad? I was more jealous than anything. Thanks for quickly getting over the time I yelled at you in the kitchen. Yeah, I know you remember the one. Intense. The bossman finally showed up and we were fine again, but both crying on the porch steps out back.  I probably could have done without raising my voice, sorry about that... but seriously, bus your shit. It's all funny to me now, and fun-even the conflicts.

I'm so proud of you for making Chicago work. I wish with ever fiber of my body that I could have.  And for chugging through a shitty hand of health cards like a champ- I know that wreck havoc on your spirit. And for being discerning with gentleman callers. Thanks so much Coll, for never leaving me hanging, or leaving me alone to find my own way home at the end of a debaucherous night out to go hook up with some random. We just don't do that to each other. 

Unspoken code. 

The world can be a tough place for us half-reformed party girls, and I'm so grateful to have you to reminisce with over the recklessness. The nights that carried over until morning, the trying to have a nice dinner out and ending up running into an old friend that led to shots that led to.... the usual. But also, occasional nights in to watch movies and just chill. We're starting to get that now, you know? 

Plus those hangovers get harder with age. 

We're more alike than I am with most of my other friends. I always feel at home, thanks. No matter how long it's been, we will catch up quick. It just works. It's great to have a friend that's just always in it to chill out. Not make a plan. Know it'll all work out. 

I'll maybe never be able to express my gratitude to you for being my friend, half-birthday twin, my honorary sister. But I am SO very grateful. You've got a piece of my heart I never want back. Keep it, I know it's in good hands. Thanks.

As you said, it's not summer until we drink an Oberon together or both of us are covered in hives. Welp, we've got the latter covered. It's summer and I miss you.

Yeah, we look good from behind.

 Love you. 

XO Sara

blood is thicker than water, but peanut butter is thicker than blood

Since I emotionally don't have the tools to deal with the fact that the sky is snowing its balls off right now, ON MARCH 30TH, I'm taking a walk down the sunny side of memory lane, where the temperature mostly stays above 65 degrees and I don't have to deal with minor annoyances like wind-shield wipers and wearing socks.


I've mentioned my love of summer camp before and I think it's safe to say that it effectively made me into a geeky, 'girl power,' tie-dye loving freak. Amazingly, I still have a successful social life and due to my extreme awkwardness, vastly competitive nature, and fairly strict social upbringing, I'm sometimes told I come off as intimidating and unapproachable, which couldn't be further from my own actual perception of things, but hey-o, I don't hate it.


My sister, nearly three years younger than I, is similarly blessed with these qualities. Minus the tye-die loving freak part, that's all mine. Although, just to be clear I'll have you know that I actually work the power-suit and pumps look and I like to keep drum-circle Sara limited to certain area of my life, if you know what I mean.




When I was a senior in high school, my sister, Beth, was a freshman. PSH, more like FRESH MEAT. Bahaha.  Okay that wasn't funny. Anyway, we were both on the Cross Country team. Except, I was like, a senior, and like, totally varsity, and she was significantly lower on the totem pole, because duh, FROSH. It's kind of a tough thing to build up your image or popularity level or status or whatever bizarre pissing contest it is in high school and beyond for three years and then have a family member who actually knows you and the fact that you cry during the fucking movie previews and also uses the bathroom after you at home where all the number twos go down. It's an intrusion. Or, it can  feel like one.

There's no mystery.


 It was high school, it was cross country, in Indiana. This wasn't exactly Laguna Beach or 90210 or Gossip Girl. Again, cross country. Not a headline sport. But whatever, I had the team of girl and guy runners and we all sat around together on Friday nights and ate carrot sticks and watched Forrest Gump or Sandlot if we were in season, while the rest of our fellow student body was robotripping or getting busted for throwing corn husks at semis from the overpass.  It was vaguely cult-like, as most sports with semi-talented athletes are.


And boy, did we have some hot ticket events of which to look forward. One particularly exciting highlight was TEAM CAMP. Team camp was when we stayed IN THE DORMS of a college campus twenty miles away from our hometown for three nights and basically gorged ourselves on each other... and running three times a day. And sometimes swimming. And playing ultimate frisbee. And having ping-pong and basketball tournaments in which everyone, even the most uncoordinated, were required to participate. ALSO, the talent show.

Oh, the talent show.

Senior year summer team camp talent show, it was the 'cool' thing to be in as many skits as possible, or maybe that was just me. I'm not sure on that, I just know I was in several talent show acts, but that was maybe just because of my compulsion to win and so I felt being in as many of the acts as possible would up my chances.  The senior ladies coreographed a dance WITH PROPS and MATCHING OUTFITS to the tune of Video Killed the Radio Star. Style, bitches. Also particularly memorable is the skit I'm about to share with you and the reason for this post.

It's called Peanut Butter and Jelly.

And if I may say so myself, it was a crowd favorite. Even if we were scammed out of the highest honors.


Right, so Peanut Butter and Jelly.



The premise of this skit is to act completely stoic the entire time. It's to be treated with a sense of gravity and artsy pretentiousness to the crowd, who is hopefully losing their shit and laughing their asses off. One person is Peanut Butter and the other is Jelly. Essentially, you just go back and forth smearing the ingredient you're assigned on the other person, naming the part as you do it, taking turns until you're both miserable, sticky, messes. We used entire over-sized jars of each on one another, and if we're being honest, I wouln't have hated having two a piece.

My Sister and I attended the same summer camp, albeit at different points in the summer, as children. We'd both witnessed said skit, and been amazed by it as wee lasses. So, in an effort to be less of a bitch to my little sister, the newbie on the team trying to gain some notoriety,  I decided good old Beth and I should perform this together. It's kind of the perfect skit for sisters to do, because nobody knows how to be malicious like closely-aged sisters know how to be malicious to one another.



Our version when something like this:

Me: (Smearing peanut butter on Beth's pig-tailed locks) Peanut Butter hair gel!

Beth: (Playfully ringing my neck with jelly) Grape Jelly necklace!

Me: Peanut butter tube socks!!

Beth: Grape Jelly Sleeves!!

Me: Peanut butter lip gloss!!.

Beth: Grape Jelly blush!!

Me: Peanut butter eyeshadow!!

Beth: Grape Jelly underwear!!!!!


Grape jelly underwear. ON STAGE. It was totally on after that. I'm not kidding, we had an all-out war. The camp counselors we'd seen perform this skit as children were friends, so they hugged it out at the end. A third counselor had run out and rapidly threw a loaf of bread, slice, by slice on them and proclaimed 'Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich!!!!!!!' And they bowed it out and it was met by overwhelming applause, by the fourteen and under crowd.


We were NOT met by overwhelming applause right away. We were sisters, and shit was getting serious, seriously out of hand.  The other high-school aged members of the team had NO idea how to react. Perhaps it was weridly erotic for the male members and we didn't really think it through. My coach nearly LOST. HIS. SHIT. about the mess we made, us failing to realize just how fucking sticky everything was to become around us. Plus, we started getting legitimately pissed at each other and my friend Jessica ended up akwardly running out with the loaf of bread and kind of breaking up our shoving and condiment flinging as she doused us with bread.


In the end, we gave each other the one-stage hug, but like, the kind where you squeeze so hard that you're actually trying to hurt the other person without making it super obvious.



Crickets.



AND THEN, WAIT FOR IT.


The ROAR of applause. Weird, confused, oh-shit-what-just-went-down, 'that was fucking awesome,' applause.


God, do I love the sound of applause.


In the end, our coach was seriously furious about the skit and how we weren't *exactly* forthcoming with details prior to performance (um, we knew he was going to say no, and it's obviously better to beg for forgiveness.) and purposely didn't include us in the applause level judging to determine a winner. AND we had to scrub a nasty dorm common-area for a unreasonably long time. However, the clean-up did allow us time to make ammends and bond over the fact that we just made total fools did the most badass skit ever, together.



Beth and I already knew we were the real winners. You know, sisterly bonding and blood being thicker than water and stuff.


I think there may actually be some pictures of this circulating around still, so I'll see what I can do in the means of evidence. Oh, shit.


Xo Sare

I like gas-station hot dogs.

Before I delve into the weird that was my weekend I'd just like to let you know that since the last time we talked I've acquired a very mini-sized tube of deodorant for my purse. It was the only responsible thing for an otherwise almost completely irresponsible person to do. So, even though I may choke on unsuccessfully dry-swallowed pills in the future, I will also have the peace of mind that if I die, I will indeed NOT be the smelly person at the office, even if I forget to apply antiperspirant before I dash out the door in the morning.

Whew.

Also, my sister and I, enroute to Columbus, Ohio, hometown of my beloved alma mater, for one final Christmas of the year, discovered that we both loathe two-door cars. Call us old biddies, but we both believe that the sedan is where it's at. I mean, driving a coupe is like admitting you have zero or one friends, you're cheap and will never offer to drive, or you don't give a shit about the comfort level of your passengers. Four door cars just make everything easier. I just need to know that I can access everything in my backseat easily, without having to awkwardly lean over the front seat with my ass in the air trying to find that other shoe... or something. Plus, a spacious backseat? I don't hate it.

On Sunday morning, Beth and I decided that after drinking heavily, sleeping in a house that I'm highly allergic to, and getting well below five hours of sleep, we were so in love with our manfriends that we would rise at seven in the morning to begin the journey back to them.

 Things got rullllllll weird.

 Mostly, me. Plus, Beth is the anti morning person to my schizoid total morning person... Usually when we're mixed together before noon or so, it will end in a verbal altercation that turns into a physical altercation.... that leads to one or both of us being physically or emotionally scarred for life... it's a pretty volatile combination. I'll just have you know right now, though, that we both survived a weekend of six driving hours together without any real bitchiness. Which is big. For both of us.

Now, let’s talk about a little thing called false advertising.

I have a problem with products that proclaim they will give you energy. AKA when I consumer said product, no matter the conditions,  I get the jitters, start shaking like a leaf on the tree, start wigging the fuck out for about two hours, and then crash and am completely worthless for the rest of the day. And I know this about myself. And I still decided I needed to take a five hour energy shot at 7:30 in the morning on Sunday. For S's and G's, since I wasn't even driving. Because I just can't say NO to impulses and urges. Ever.

Whatever, I also wolfed down a gas station hot dog before the sun was up, loaded with onions, ketchup, mustard, chili, and cheese, so I had basically already taken my own life in my hands.  Because I obviously lose any semblance of shame when I'm hungover.

These products that claim massive amounts of energy! without a crash! DO NOT give me energy, they make me loopy as all get-out, and then they make me feel within inches of death for the next 12-24 hours.

Anyway.... things got a little wacky for us at some point during the three hour drive and we had, I shit you not, this conversation:

Sara:  'ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I feel all flooby and I can't stop making weird noises.'

Beth: 'Yeah, you are making weird noises. You're actually acting like you've lost your mind.'

Sara: 'gahhhh, glooooody dooooody bahhhhh rummmpp pa pa pump."

Beth: 'When I'm babysitting I real like to make the children make animal noises.'

Sara: 'Uhhhhhhhh, I'm too hopped up on five-hour energy to fully grasp how not right that is.'

Beth: 'My favorite animal to have them imitate is a monkey.'

Sara: (cracking up/losing it) ‘You know what, you're fucking odd. I don't know why anyone would let you watch their children.

Beth: ‘Just last week, a little girl I babysit for named a poop after me.’

Sara: '.... And I think I'll climb into the spacious back seat of your lovely SEDAN and start acting like a chimp.'

I hope we never reproduce.

XO Sare