True Confessions #2 - I Have A Twin Sister

I have a twin sister that visits me once a month. She is no fun to be around and we are glad that we don’t see her more often. In fact, those who know her say she is the most unpleasant person they have ever met. “How” Those near and dear to me ask, “can a person as sweet and kind as you are have a sister like that?” I just smile and shake my head. “I don’t know.” I say. “It is a mystery.” She is an embarrassment to the family. I won’t reveal her name, because you might know her and I wouldn’t want you to pass her on the street and whisper, “There goes Reading Rosie’s crazy twin sister. I’ve read all about her. She needs to be in therapy.” But, because I care about you and just in case you ever do meet up with my twin sister, here is a little advice.

First, she is ugly. I know that isn’t kind to say, but it is the truth and you need to know it to prepare yourself. She has pimply skin and little hairs that grow on her chin. I’ve known her to go several days without bathing, brushing her hair or shaving her legs and underarms. If you point this out to her, even in the kindest of way, she might hit you. It is best not to act shocked at the sight of her. Smile, nod your head, try not to make eye contact, look away, and run.

Secondly, she is moody. If you are lucky enough to catch her in a good mood, you might be able to joke and laugh a little with her. But if you are like most unfortunate souls who encounter her especially between the 2nd through the 6th of the month, there is really no way to know what you might experience. It’s possible, because I’ve seen it happen, that she might hit, kick, spit, or throw any large object that is available in your direction. I’ve seen her kick a Monopoly board that was in her walking path across the room. Money, houses, hotels were scattered all over Timbuktu. And once, she took a metal mop and pounded it on the floor until it bent in half. When she is in this mood, speak softly around her and stand at least 10 feet away. Be very careful not to criticize anything remotely related to anything she does. She can cry over not being able to open a pickle jar; but don’t sympathize; because she “Doesn’t need your help!”

Thirdly, she is part animal. Growling, biting and scratching are not out of the question. Don’t poke her in the ribs, tickle her on the neck, pull her big toe, or stick your finger in her ear. All these things tend to exacerbate the problem. It is similar to poking an angry bear with a stick. When she arrives at our house, the dog whines and hides under the bed. The boys lock themselves in their bedrooms and MDH wants to check into a hotel room but I will not let him because I need someone big and strong to protect me. She can smell fear, so don’t act intimidated.

Fourth, she struggles with an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She "Likes Order!" in her area, so don't mess with her area.

Finally, don’t let her near anything that contains the slightest traces of sugar. Do you remember the movie Gremlins? Sugar has the same effect on her that feeding a Gremlin after midnight does. All sugar is hidden during her visit unless she stomps her foot and screams, “I need chocolate!” Then, of course, she gets chocolate. Well, actually chocolate is tossed to her from across the room. But in your case, don’t hold out, give her all the chocolate you have down to that last junior mint at the bottom of your purse and you will be okay.

Fortunately, for my family, she only blows into town for a couple a days each month and just when we think we can’t stand her one more minute, “Poof” she is gone! If she ever ends up in your home, don’t be afraid to ask her to leave. As awful as she is to my family, she is fairly respectful to my friends. Anyway, her departure always makes the birds sing, the squirrels scamper, the children sweet and MDH whistle. All is once again peaceful in our “normal” home. Life is good!

PS: Happy 4th of July! Celebrate safely and take the time to thank God for the freedoms we enjoy in this country! As imperfect as our nation is, we still are the greatest nation on the Earth! God Bless the USA. Amen.

True Confession #1 - Barbie Dolls

I awoke this morning thinking about Barbie Dolls. I must have dreamed about them last night. With Barbie on my mind this morning I thought now would be a good time to make my first "true life confession." I played with Barbie Dolls until I was a sophomore in high school! Gosh, it feels good to let that out. Very cleansing. My first Barbie was one whose legs didn't bend. She was fun, but I could never really get over her sitting with her legs sticking straight out. My next Barbie had a pull cord that would make her talk. I didn't like that feature because I wanted to make her talk myself thus the cord didn't get pulled often. I still have them both. One is bald and the other one is duct taped together, but they are dressed and in my curio cabinet. The dolls I loved and played with almost every day were the Malibu set from the early 70's. You remember....they had a tan and came with swimsuits, sunglasses and a beach towel. I had Barbie, Ken, Francis, PJ and Skipper plus the Barbie Country Camper with all the little camping supplies, etc. I loved this set. In the summer I would take the whole lot outside and play under a shade tree all day and then in the winter I would clear out our fake fireplace in the living room and make that their home. My Ken and Francis dolls were stolen from their camper one day. I was heart broken and I just knew one of the kids in my neighborhood had came into our house and took them because they were so jealous of my Barbies. I cried and mourned and wouldn't drink my milk until my Mom bought me a new Ken and Francis. But they weren't the Malibu set. This Ken didn't have a tan plus he had long black hair (he was modeled after Warren Beatty in the movie Shampoo), not the molded plastic blond hair. And Francis, bless her heart, had wiry hair that could be rolled and pale pasty skin, not the flowing blond locks and sun kissed look I knew and loved. I liked them, but it was never the same. At least not until I got the Barbie Town House for Christmas the next year. I was uptown now! Also, I began collectin Dawn Dolls during this time. They were similar to Barbie Dolls, only smaller (about six inches). I loved, loved, loved, these dolls and eventually acquired 17 of them. At this point I need to tell you that I developed breasts early in life. By the time I was in 6th grade, I had large breasts. I hated them, they were in my way, but because of this phenomena, boys took an interest in me early. From the sixth grade forward I always had a "boyfriend." I would be playing happily with my dolls in the evening after school and a boy would call. I would be mortified! I would beg my older brother to please, please, please don't tell him I am playing with dolls. This gave my brother lots of power to torture me emotionally. As I got older I was so embarrassed about playing with my dolls, I would go into my room, lock the door, pull my shades and tell my family that if a guy called, I was not available. Eventually, I packed them up and put them away only because my friends were making horrible fun of me. Peer pressure had won out! But secretly, in my innermost being, for years after, I still had the desire to get them out and play and pretend. Now, of course, I realize that was the maternal part of me coming out early. I eventually married my MDH who loved me despite my doll affliction and who didn't laugh when I unpacked my dolls, cleaned them up, washed and ironed their clothes and sewed on the loose buttons, matched their shoes and eventually placed them in a curio cabinet to admire and occasionally take out and touch. I dreamed of having baby girls so that we could play dolls together. Don't ever let anyone tell you God doesn't have a sense of humor because He does and in a big way. Instead of girls, He gave me two rowdy boys and from there I had to learn to play with GI Joes and Star Wars action figures. BTW, I'm counting on my grand babies to be girls! I received a surprise a few years ago when my crazy brother showed up with a brown paper bag and handed it to me. "Don't ask me any questions," he said. Inside were my Malibu Ken and Francis dolls. I shrieked with excitement until I realized all these years I had blamed the little neighborhood kids for their disappearance while it was actually my reprobate big brother. I occasionally still give him the "evil eye" because of this incident. But sometimes, after dark, when the guys are in bed, Barbie, Ken, Francis and I laugh about it.