Arch Nemesis-ters: The struggles of sisterhood.
Words by Michelle Andrews.
Monday: “Nup, that’s it – you can’t use my hair straightener for two weeks”
Tuesday: “You are the saddest, most pathetic excuse for a human being. Please do us all a favour and move far, far away. Like Nepal. Yeah… move to Nepal.”
Wednesday: “OMG @MichelleAndrews1@EvelynAndrews hahahaha I’m crying!”
Thursday: “You need to find my top by the end of the day or you owe me $70 for it. I’m texting you my bank details and I expect payment by 5pm. You will be charged interest for every hour the payment is late.”
Friday: “I’ll grab the bottle of wine, don’t worry about it. You have the movie yeah?”
Saturday: “Did you fucking touch my eyeshadow? That’s my eyeshadow in your makeup case, isn’t it? HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO NOT TOUCH MY FUCKING EYESHADOW?!”
Sunday: “Dude, your boobs look delicious in that top.”
Living with your sisters is, um, an experience.
Some days I come home to two of my best girlfriends. We go together like chips and dip, or a 21 year old student and a bottle of Moscato. We masterfully craft texts to each other’s crushes and deeply discuss the meaning of life. We embrace each other’s true hideousness (the haven’t-shaved-in-three-weeks-leg-stubble, oily hair, zero makeup and an all-grey pyjama ensemble is our uniform).We are sassy and awesome – like blonde Kardashian sisters (poorer, non-famous,non sex-tape making, less attractive, smarter, blonde versions of the Kardashian sisters, at least).
Other days, we are enemy combatants who would not hesitate to shave off each others’ eyebrows and give away each others’ laptops on Gumtree for free. We go together like a severe hangover and a family function, or Tony Abbott and public speaking. We bitch and whine about how the other sister breathes, how she chews, how she puts on that annoying fake-laugh over the phone (…how she writes about personal relationships on her blog), the list goes on. We hurl insults at each other, reaching decibel levels so high they are only audible to small marsupials.
Don’t have a sister? The typical ‘Sister War’ goes something like this:
1. Pick fight about something relatively unimportant, like the fact that Sister 1 borrowed Sister 2’s jumper last Thursday and left it on her bedroom floor smelling like body odour.
2. At a marsupial-appropriate decibel level, call Sister 1 an “Unhygienic Disgusting Sloth”
3. Rebut all responses with a highly sarcastic laugh and say something super-dooper mean which you will most definitely regret later, for example: “I’m not surprised (insert boy’s name here) didn’t want you” (ouch)
4. When you have both said what you need to say/have stopped trying to get the last word in, wait approximately 0.0007 of a second in silence, both staring blankly at the TV.
5. Resume life as normal and go back to being best friends. The fight is officially over and shall be forgotten forever. You’re already happily discussing the depth of Aaron Eckhart’s chin dimple and rating him out of 10.
Take the ‘Great Bathtub Battle of 2010’ for example:
Evelyn was 14 and I was 16. We were both in the midst of the horrifying experience that is puberty, and our Sister Wars were increasingly hormone/hate filled. I should point out that during this blessed time, my skin was not exactly fabulous (by “not exactly fabulous” I mean it was awful… like Britney Spears’ 2007 meltdown awful). Spots and bumps covered my face and back, and I was mega self-conscious about this. How self conscious, you say? Enough to have consulted Google as my doctor, and follow advice to “fill a spray bottle with water and salt and apply onto the acne affected area every morning and night”.
Anyway, one day I was getting ready in the bathroom in just my bra (oooooh), with my gorgeous back-acne situation on full display to the World (ewwww) when Evelyn remarks: “B-b-b-b-baby got BACNE”.
Long story short, 14 year old Evelyn ended up in the bathtub, with 16 year old me on-top of her, clawing at her face, hysterically crying about my severe case of bacne. Mum and Dad had to intervene. Other siblings were called in as reinforcements. It was utter carnage. Bacne was never to be mentioned in the Andrews household again. We’re still trying to rebuild.
THAT was the Great Bathtub Battle of 2010.
those of you wondering if Google is right and if something as simple as salted water will solve your acne woes, I am sorry to tell you that it does not. It did however stain the back of all of my school dresses white. Just know that it gets better in time, and there will be plenty of backless dresses for you to rock the shit out of when it does, girl!
Bacne and bathtubs aside, there is no relationship quite like the one you share with your sisters. Sure, there’s a shitload of drama and missing skirts/bronzers/tweezers/tampon-packs, but I wouldn’t give up my sisters for a lifetime supply of Pepsi Max (or Moscato). Regardless of how much we fight, or how many awful things we scream at each other, we are best friends. I know they have my back (especially now that it is pimple free) just as I have theirs.