Having a Sister Makes You Happier
There was an article earlier this week in the New York Times about how having a sister makes you happier.
I know that having Blara as my sister makes me happier, and I’m not even making a funny joke when I say that.
I also have two little sisters, those who must not be named because my mother banned me from doing so on my blog.
They make me happy as well.
Blara and I are mostly like Waldorf and Statler, the two theater critics in the Muppets. When we’re not fighting, we’re making fun of other people, most especially Superbad.
When we’re not like Waldorf and Statler, Blara is like Animal:
And I’m like a victim.
My two younger sisters are like Bert and Ernie:
Only way more adorable.
My favorite anecdote in the article was about a woman named Colleen and her sister:
Late in life, the sister came to live with Colleen and her husband. Colleen recalled that each morning after her husband got up to make coffee, her sister would stop by Colleen’s bedroom to say good morning. Colleen would urge her sister to join her in bed. As they sat up in bed side by side, holding hands, Colleen and her sister would “just talk.”
The only way that Blara and I are different from these two is that when Blara used to come into my room at night, I would make her sleep on the floor.
But when we’re older, we know that we will live together, us four sisters. Because women outlive men. And men aren’t as interesting as women anyway, so once they stop being good for copulating, you need to throw something into the mix to make life with them enjoyable. For me, that something will more than likely be one of my sisters (and perhaps my mother as well, if she doesn’t become a nun). For I’ve loved life with them so far, and I’ll love them forever, until the day we end up together in bed, reminiscing about life, and holding each others hands.
