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Politics and Activism

An Apology To My Dear Sister

Although We've Had Our Moments, I Can't Imagine Where I Would Be Without You

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An Apology To My Dear Sister
Hayley Peirpont

The old Hallmark card saying goes, “If you have a sister, you’ll always have a friend.” A shoulder to cry on. A confidant. A convenient wardrobe you can always borrow from. The bond of sisters is, indeed, a truly special thing. But that’s not what these article is about. Today, my darling relation, I come before you to offer my sincerest apologies for all my past offenses. In the twenty-plus years that we have walked through life together, my crimes as a younger sibling have been diabolical, bloody, and resulted in a fair amount of worn out socks.

That time I called you a b-word.

Granted, you were totally being a b-word, but it all fairness, I was totally being a foul-mouthed little urchin. It was probably the stupidest argument we’ve ever had, and my temper and use of profanity just shows how much I needed to mature even at ten years old. By the time you were my age, you had already begun to identify with vegetarianism as a ethical change in your diet and had made straight A’s that year. Even though I had a sudsy mouth when Dad washed out my mouth with soap, I’m still really sorry about the whole affair.

That time I assaulted you in the face in Scotland.

There came a time during our “romp through Europe” where eating, sleeping, navigating, and just generally being together for the whole of 639 miles was just a lot of annoying sisterly bonding. It's not that I hated you, I just didn’t want you breathing next me anymore. I know the feeling was mutual. You were probably pretty tired of my face as well. That being said, when the tensions finally erupted, the way I behaved was unacceptable to any civilization past 100 B.C.

That time I got us fined in Italy.

Ugh, Italy. Dare I even relive the memory? From Verona to Venice no country had ever seemed less committed to order. But the travel book had warned us about what happens to silly little Americans that don’t validate their tickets before hopping on trains. Bad luck for us that, during our race to catch our flight (which we still missed), the ONE law-abiding conductor left in ALL OF ITALY asked to see our tickets. You broke down crying, the fine was sixty euros per person. It was a fiasco and I was its maker, having bullied you off the platform (I believe my exact words before boarding were something like, “Those ticket validating machines are as broken and archaic as Italy’s law systems. GET ON THE TRAIN!”). Yeeahh, sorry about that. But, hey--at least he reduced it to thirty euros per person.

The time I put perfume in your lemonade.

I really wasn’t trying to off you. And, having now researched it, the effects of White Shoulders cologne on a five-year-old would be, at worst, minimal discomfort to your tastebuds. Still, it was one of those moments when you were totally minding your own business and I was all "Asssians Creed" up in your beverage. I promise I won’t try to poison you again. Who else is going to help me do my taxes?


All the embarrassing snapchats I’ve sent of you (Surprise!)This is probably the only one you consented to.

All the times before 10am

Though I have denied this for many years, I’ve finally accepted that part of myself that is an absolute beast in the morning. God knows how you have managed to do so. While I may never be one of those people who wake filled with joy, and no amount high octane coffee can change that, your good patience will always make me strive to deliver a sincere "good morning."

For all the times I causally repossessed your stuff.

Lets' be honest with each other here. We are both guilty of this crime. It really couldn’t be avoided, given that we have generally always had the same taste in clothes. It can be confusing to remember who owned what originally. But I will own up to the many times I have just blatantly burglarized your closet and made the stolen merchandise mine. (You’re still not getting that H&M cardigan back).

This article.

You’re a private person with a lot of class and modesty. You hate your picture being taken. You literally blush when someone gives you a compliment. You are humility and grace, and I aspire to your level. Just not today. Sharing is caring, after all, and if I know as I think I do, you will pardon me once more for this tiny transgression.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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