Mary-Kate has Ashley, Venus has Serena, and Zsa Zsa had Eva.
There were the McGuires, the Lennons, the Andrews and the Pointers.
Sisters. I wonder what it would be like to have one.
I have a brother. Make no mistake, a brother is good. Very good. But a brother doesn't do hair, clothes, or hang on the phone.
I have two exceptional sisters-in-law, but it's not the same. I can tell by watching.
From what I have seen there are some shades of sisterhood that comes with a bond just shy of Super Glue. There are days when it would take a crowbar to separate sisters.
Our youngest sat on the middle of the family room floor and bawled her eyes out when her older sister went to kindergarten. She sat on the couch and cried again when her sister went to college.
The tears ran both ways. Whenever the youngest one got a spanking, the older one cried.
When one was sick with the flu, and tucked into our big four-poster bed, the other one would crouch at the foot of the bed and perform shows with sock puppets —— for nearly an entire afternoon.
Sisterhood is a camaraderie that rivals the sort found in pubs, legions halls and the military.
Sisters scold, boss and threaten to tell the world that the other one snorts when she laughs, yet text message "i miss u," from one room away.
Sisters bare their hearts and share their souls.
And just when you get all syrupy and think this sister business must be one of the most wonderful relationships of all time, witness the slamming bathroom door and someone starting a second blow dryer to deliberately flip the circuit breaker.
Shouldn't somebody call the SWAT team? I never had a sister, so I don't know. Those who have had sisters say this is normal.
On the upside, it would appear that having a sister means having your own personal fashion critic, a second set of eyes and someone with the guts to tell you that you can't dance.
Most importantly, a sister is someone with whom you can discuss your mother. (What? You girls thought we didn't know?)
Sisters seem to bond in spite of, and maybe because of, their differences. In the Boundary Waters of Minnesota, tucked away in the woods at the end of an 18-mile trek over rough back roads still fresh with ruts from the original wagon trains, you will reach a well-known local haunt called the Chainsaw Sisters Saloon. And you will likely find only one sister tending the "sisters" saloon. The other one stays in town running a T-shirt shop. They said that was the arrangement and they like it that way.
My neighbor and her sister have voices, intonations and laughs that sound nearly identical. They talk once a day by phone and some nights scare themselves to find they are cooking the same thing for dinner.
One has three girls and the other has two boys, so their lives and activities have been different, determined somewhat by the configurations of their families. Yet when summer comes, they are constantly darting up to the lake house together for long weekends together.
There's not much to do at the lake house, so I have often wondered how they fill the days.
They must spend a lot of time talking. Either that or wrestling over the blow dryer.
