You know Pippa Middleton’s dress? I looked NOTHING like that when I was my sister’s bridesmaid.

Having said that – and stay with me here – the lower half of my own wedding dress was not unlike Pippa Middleton’s frock. No, really. Except for the buttons. And the arse.

 

But as my sister Kate pointed out, that’s where the similarity ends. Nice.

It’s a good segue though into the subject of this post, which is sisters – not just mine. OK, mainly mine.

I faffed around with this post last week, but having now emerged from the other side of the Wedding of the Century, I’m glad I waited – not least because of the excellent opening it gave me.

It made the subject of sisters both current and newsworthy, so although I had to scrap most of what I’d already written, I’m sure we can all agree that the timing is excellent.

So let’s start with my sisters. I know, derr.  And because I’m a newby blogger and have no clue whether it’s the done thing or not, I’m going to use their real names – Kate and Janey – on the basis that they both tweet using their real names (although Janey wasn’t christened Fun Size Janey).

 

I am the oldest,  followed by Kate, who is 16 months younger than me, and then Janey who is the youngest by a bit – 5 & a half years younger than Kate. We have a brother in between Kate and Janey, but brothers are a whole ‘nother blog post.

We are crazy close, my sisters and I. Not close in a Kardashian “I’ll do your Brazilian wax for you” kind of way (although sort of close in a Kardashian “junk-in-the-trunk” kind of way – all 3 of us having unfortunately inherited our father’s Eastern European, teletubbie shape, rather than our mother’s willowy anglo-saxon limbs).

We’re close in the way that if we don’t phone/text/tweet or see each other at least once a day, we’ll phone/text or tweet each other to make sure we were all a) still alive and b) still talking. Generally that conversation will go like this:

Me to Kate: “Hey it’s me. Where’s Janey?”

Kate: “Dunno. But she’s babysitting here tonight.”

Me: “Has she got the shits with me?”

Kate: “Nup, don’t think so.”

Me: “Cool. OK, I’ve got nothing else. Bye.”

When I think about it, we weren’t always as close as we are now. Janey was at boarding school when I was at university (and when I say “at university” I mean “at the Rec Club”). Then Kate and I spent a year in London. Then we came back to Brisbane, and I moved to Sydney a couple of years later. Kate lived in San Francisco and New Zealand. Then Janey lived in Dallas for a bit, before coming back to Brisbane. Then Kate moved to Sydney. Then I moved back to Brisbane. Then Kate moved back to Brisbane. Then Janey moved to Las Vegas. Then 3 years later Janey moved back to Brisbane.

I feel like a little nap after that.

So now we’re all in the same city, which makes our parents very happy, and makes borrowing stuff a whole lot easier.

But man, can we fight. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m the one who inherited the slavic temper from Dad (arse and stabbiness – thanks Dad – it’s amazing I ever found a husband). But when we get into it, my sisters and I can fight for Australia. Our trademark move is the telephone hang-up. My best friend once told me that she can’t believe we hang up on each other – that she’d never get over it if someone hung up on her.

But for us, the hang-up is like a comma. No, a semi-colon. A necessary break in proceedings, but never the end. And there are tears. And then it is over. It is fair dinkum exhausting when we have a fight. But it is usually over within hours. We’re economical like that.

I have a hundred stories about stuff we’ve done together, stuff we’ve done to each other and stuff we’ve done for each other. I could bang on for ages about travelling to Africa together, or shopping like maniacs (ok that was just me) in Las Vegas. But that’d be a bit like making you sit through a slide-show or worse – a powerpoint presentation with dot points flying in from all over the place.

 

Instead I’ll share with you what I think is the best part about having sisters. For me there are two things.

First, having allies inside the family bunker is priceless. Although we have great relationships with our Mum and Dad, at any given time one or both of our parents is giving one or all of us the screaming shits. This is how a conversation might go:

Me to Janey: “It’s me. Just a heads-up. Dad is on his way over with the gurney.”

Janey: “Crap. I’m still in bed. Nothing needs gurneying. God he’s mental.”

Me: “Count your blessings. He turned up here on his way back from the boat. Told us all it was time we were up. For fuck’s sake, it’s a public holiday.”

Janey: “Did he at least wash the cars?”

Me: “No, but he saw Joe’s school shoes outside the front door and sat him down to teach him the best polishing technique.”

The other thing for which I am eternally grateful about having sisters is the honesty inherent in the relationship. It is generally agreed amongst us that Janey is the most fashion-forward, Kate has the cleverest wit, and I…umm…am the most uptight. None of us tiptoes around when our opinions are sought (or not sought)  – particularly in our areas of “expertise”.

So a viewing of a new frock might go like this:

Me to Janey: “I looooove this dress. It’s so weird that I can wear maxi-frocks when I’m so short.”

Janey: “You can’t. Maxi-dresses have never looked good on you.”

Me: “Yes they do.”

Janey: “No, really they don’t. They make you look enormous.”

Me: “Shut up. I like them.”

Janey: “I’m just saying.”

Now, I just don’t think a friend, no matter how close, would say that to me –  not with such scant regard for my feelings – which might be the kind thing to do, but does nothing to improve my stylishness. Or lack thereof. My sister however, in the same way as she might say “I could really go a cheeseburger”, will say “Nuh, that looks awful”. And she will be doing it because she loves me. Also to avoid being embarrassed by me.

It’s impossible to avoid using the cliche that my sisters are my best friends, but it’s a term that doesn’t come close to being accurate. They are so much more. I’ve already said they are my allies, but they are also my strongest defenders, my most strident critics, my mentors, my co-conspirators and my shoulders to cry on.

If you have sisters, I hope you are as lucky as I am. If you don’t have sisters, I hope that there is someone in your life who are to you what Kate and Janey are to me – my touchstones.