Sisterly Oaths

Ok. I'm a good sister. Or at least I try to be. And one of the rules to being a good sister is listening to a siblings problems and then offering sound advice. I can do this...most of the time...if I'm not thinking about food. And I think about food A LOT. I think about what I'm gonna eat as soon as I wake up in the morning. I think about what I should have for lunch when I'm taking my first bite out a breakfast taco. I like thinking what fancy food flights I'll take in the evening when I'm pretending to be best friends with Whitney of The City on Monday nights. I LOVE food.

What was I talking about? Oh. Being a good sister. So on one particular occasion my sister and I were having a girl's day out. We do this every Saturday, but this one was rare. This one, we were kid free. So what do you do when there are no kids around? Act like a kid...or a teenager, it varies. We're driving and we're crooning to songs that make us think of our days of middle school and high school. You know the songs that make you wish you were 15 again, or at least glad you aren't. And then THE song comes on. The one that in one moment can take you to happyland to whiney loserville in 0.25 seconds. The song that makes you think of the bastard who never truly got you?

Well it happened that day. To my sister. Funny, happy, let's sing this song and dance silly in the car TO let's take deep drags off our cigarettes, stare into the sky and ponder the true essence of life's lesson. And she begins. Recounting high school days, the choices she made that have brought her here, to this moment thus far. She's wondering if she made the right choices. If she should've had a different major in college, if she should've picked up the phone 8 years ago, if she would have just stuck it out on the volleyball court ONE more year...would she be in a better place? And she turns to me and rhetorically asks, "Would I have had everything I wanted?"

I stare out the passenger window. My mind racing at what to say. What do you say? And I turn to her and say, dramatically because I want her to know that these feelings will pass, "that's pasta."

But hell! That's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to say,

"That's life."

I wanted to say something profound and as deep as she was feeling. But my freakin stomach impeded my speech! It made the decision for my mind that what I was going to eat for dinner was more important than this deep life discussion I'm having with my best friend.

Yet it was the most perfect thing I could say. Before I knew it, she was gripping the steering wheel and crying her eyes out with laughter. The heaviness of the discussion was lifted and the singing and carefree feel of the day made it's way back into the tiny black car. And to this day, when ever we're having one of those days, my sister will call me or turn to me and say, "that's pasta!"