bossy's birthday

Tomorrow is my big sister's birthday.

Amazingly enough, Betsy likes me for some reason. I know I hit her a lot as a kid. I was a brat, but she put up with it. My favorite phrase as a kid was "Shub-up Bossy." The name stuck. She even let me raid her closet (an unheard of event for girls six years apart from each other), hang out with her cool high school friends and sell candy bars door-to-door for her for dance fund raisers.



I remember the nights in our tiny double bed, with me hanging on for dear life, freezing on the edge of the bed while she sprawled out with all the covers. Or the nights we huddled together under that ugly blue blanket on our bed with the old black and white TV to watch some late-night television under mom and dad's noses.

Now we goof around all the time, despite the fact that hundreds of miles separate us. We're still two little kids. Only she has five kids and I am a grown-up with a real job.



Betsy has been, as they say in Wicked, "Dancing Through Life," since day one. From sporting a black, gold-fringed leotard with a broken arm in the basement to a Snoopy outfit while I heel-toe-stepped my way through "How Much is That Doggy in the Window" at the Sally Mack recital, the Boss always shook her groove thing.

She can still shake it to this day. And for that, here's to you Betsy. Happy Birthday.