I always borrow my sister's pants without asking

I have three sisters.  I am the oldest, and therefore the bossiest.  The standing joke is that the only reason I was born first is because I cut in line.  A couple of things in my defense-  

1.  I know I am bossy - there has to be a boss, and since I like to be the boss, my bossiness comes in right handy.

2.  I had to be bossy because I was the oldest and therefore "responsible" for the stuff my sisters did.  I had to tell them what to do out of self defense and self preservation.  (They will deny this, but we all know the truth.)

Anyway - along with my bossiness I was known for being the fiesty one.  All fiesty all the time.  Sister #2 (we'll call her Keely) was the nice one, the sensitive one.  She was the one that my grandmother liked best because she always tried to keep the family peace.  (Except once when she was a teenager, but I'll talk about that later.  It's a pretty good story after all).  By the way Sister #2 actually named this blog, for which I have never given her proper credit.  Now I have. So let it be written, so let it be done.  Sister #3 (we'll call her Awny) was the stubborn one.  I actually don't remember her being any more stubborn than any of the rest of us, but there you have it.  Sister #4 (we'll call her Nika) was the talker.  (This is a gene that somehow floated across the gene pool and got all over my daughter.  I swear that girl uses circular breathing so as not to miss a word.)  Nika's tongue is the proverbial double edged sword.  Swift and unyielding.

So here's the thing, if you came across us in a dark alley (unlikely, because we all have kids that need to go to bed early) but if you did, I am not the one that you would need to watch out for.  The smart money would actually go on Sister #2.  You might not guess it, but she will totally take you out.  Especially, especially if her kids are involved.

This brings me to the injustice perpetrated (again with the sounding out of the big words) upon my little angel niece, who when presented with a wrong choice runs the other way.  (It would not suprise me if she actually ran, she's a pretty good runner.)  She does not like to be in trouble.  (I have heard of these people, but she is proof that they exist.)  So, she was falsely accused by her dreadful, mean, and no doubt smelly bus driver of the gross infraction of sitting on her knees and hitting the seat in front of her on the bus this morning.  (Yeah, I know.)  She wasn't even given a chance to defend herself, because Miss Dreadful M. Smelly just kept saying - It's not your turn to talk.  (I know).  My little angel niece had to stay late on the bus and everything and she did not take it well.

My sister, also, did not take it well.  I felt myself actually shrinking back from her on the phone as she told me this story.  She wasn't yelling.  She wasn't even raising her voice.  But I could tell, because I know.  I know that everytime she sees that bus driver lady after this, she's going to get that feeling in her stomach, and her eyes are going to narrow, and if she had a tail with a rattle on it, she would be giving fair warning.

Long story long, I am posting this to let Miss Dreadful M. Smelly know, if she meets my sister in a dark alley,  she'd better be able to run as well as my niece, because sometimes the quiet ones are actually the fiesty ones in disguise.  And my sister is.