I have two sisters; one older, one younger. So yes, that means I’m the red-headed middle child. For those of you confused; that’s one step above being the red-headed step child. None of us look alike, we literally don’t even share the slightest resemblance and they may in fact be adopted.
I’m fairly confident my little sister, Hermana, is Spanish and may even come from some sort of Mexican background and my older sister, Boobs McGee, has blonde hair, blue eyes and giant tits. My Dad has red hair so we all know I’m legit.
The three of us are super close and talk every day, tell each other everything and even have all the same friends. We weren’t always like that, though. I used to try and kill my little sister all the time and Boobs McGee used to be so mean in high school that she’d make me sit in the back seat of her car even if no one else was in it. At the time, I found this incredibly embarrassing, but looking back I realize it did nothing but verify my Princess existence, because what 14 year old gets chauffeured to and from school?
Hermana is a bad ass bitch who rocks the “mountain chic” lifestyle for all its worth in New Hampshire while fighting crime next to her mountain-man boyfriend. They’re obsessed with their dogs, which I find weird as fuck, but the lab and dachshund are more well behaved than Boobs McGee’s human offspring so who am I to judge? She’s always the first one to remind me if I’m being selfish and brings me back down to earth.
We’ve traveled the Country together running hilarious half marathons and I almost always beat her. Not because I’m faster, but because she usually stops half way for an alcoholic bevvy or just hitches a ride because she’s like “fuck this, and you, for talking me into another stupid fucking race, why can’t we just vacation like normal people with no exercise?” Love her.
Boobs McGee (although much more reserved and not nearly as high maintenance as I), is one of the main reasons I’ve survived as long as I have. In true “big sister” fashion, she taught me the importance of nice clothes, how to hide everything from our parents and always made sure to unlock her bedroom window so I could break in when I’d sneak out of the house late night to walk around our neighborhood like a fucking weirdo as she constantly reminded me I was.
Even though she was usually mean, always ignored my existence and didn’t allow me in her room, she always had my back and taught me how to stand up for myself. It began when she slapped the shit out of one of the neighborhood boys when he called her a bitch at the ripe age of 11. She also passed on the art of making mushroom bombs to throw at the BRP whenever they came riding down our neighborhood like the wannabe hood rats they were.
Having sisters was great growing up because you have your two best friends around all the time. You have someone to steal clothes from, fight and then hang out with and two people that understand and appreciate you for who you are without ever questioning or making you feel like you’re wrong.
Unless one of those bitches tells mom you have a dentist appointment that you were trying to hide and thought you had gotten away with, then all that shit goes out the mother fucking window and she better run and hide before she is found and badly, badly injured.
But that almost never happens.
Sometimes, I wished I had a brother. Not instead of my sisters or anything, especially since Hermana is pretty much a dude (she’d rather buy a new gun then a Kate Spade bag, plays sports and likes yard work.. psycho) but in addition. Mostly so I could hit on his friends. But that’s what my best friend’s brothers are for – I love always getting what I want.The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony
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