The Perfect Sister
I have a perfect sister.
This is no idle exaggeration. Everything about Amanda—only eleven months older than I am—is perfect. As for me, on the other hand, I am perfectly ordinary.
While beauty may indeed be in the eye of the beholder, there is little doubt my sibling is deemed beautiful by all who see her. Amanda was blessed with thick, lustrous golden blond hair; large, dazzling sapphire blue eyes; an adorable pug nose; a flawless, creamy complexion and a finely sculpted face with high, aristocratic cheekbones. In short, her appearance is stunning whereas mine can best be described as plain.
My hair is a dull, mousy brown in color with no negligible highlights and is unmanageable to the point that I have little choice but to wear it short and straight with no particular style. My eyes are a dull shade of gray with not the slightest hint of blue, my face is squared off and my nose, though not overly large, is somewhat long and slightly off-center.
As if Amanda's angelic face and amazing hair were not enough of a blessing, my sister has a perfect figure as well: full breasts, a narrow waist and long, slender legs. Long-suffering from secretarial spread, I am cursed with the shape of a pear. Also, my chest is comparatively flat, and my waistline grows steadily wider with each passing birthday. Whereas my sister tips the scales at a respectable one hundred eighteen pounds, I send the dial up to an embarrassing one hundred ninety.
For those who contend that looks are not everything and that brains and personality are far more important than appearance, let me enlighten you further. Throughout our elementary and high school years, Amanda earned straight A's in all her classes, was popular with her teachers, parents and fellow students alike, always had a date come Saturday night and graduated valedictorian of her class. To my sister, those four years spent at Washington High were more than a stepping stone to college; they were filled with wonderful memories to be cherished later in life.
My high school days, however, were blighted with the usual adolescent woes. Even as a young teenager, I was already beginning to experience what would become in later years a bothersome weight problem, and my complexion was marred with unsightly blemishes that no amount of Clearasil could banish. My academic achievements were few and no match for my perfect sister's. I was not an honor roll student. On the contrary, I never got anything higher than a C on my report card, was virtually ignored by my teachers and peers, spent every Saturday night babysitting and was extremely lucky to have graduated at all.
After high school, my sister was awarded a full academic scholarship and attended a prestigious East Coast university, eventually earning her bachelor's degree (summa cum laude, of course), her master's degree and her doctorate in child psychology. Given my lackluster performance during my twelve years of public education, I joined the workforce right after graduation, taking a job as a typist for an insurance company.
In the years that followed our attaining the age of majority, Amanda and I both eventually married, and we each gave birth to two children: one boy and one girl. My niece and nephew—perfect just like their mother—are now excelling in school, sports and popularity. To no great surprise, my kids—much as I love them—lack their cousins' academic, athletic and social success. My son spends nearly as much time in the principal's office as he does in the classroom, and my daughter spends more time staring at herself in a mirror than looking in a textbook.
You may wonder if I am bitter for not being born with Amanda's many gifts and advantages. Surprisingly, the answer is no. Am I jealous of such a perfect sister? you may ask. Again, no, I'm not. For one thing, my sister is so perfect that people cannot help but like her whether they want to or not. I am not immune to my sibling's charms. For another thing, my perfect sister has a perfect love for her family: her husband, children, sister, niece and nephew. Loyal to a fault, there is not anything she would not do for any one of us.
But I am only human, and to be perfectly honest, I must admit there is one thing that I do envy about my perfect sister. I envy her finding and marrying the perfect man. Blessed with both good looks and brains, just like his wife, my perfect brother-in-law earns an annual income of six figures; is a caring, loving father and, as if that were not enough, is a devoted, faithful, supportive and affectionate husband who worships the ground Amanda walks on.
Perhaps you are thinking I might be a little in love with my sister's husband myself. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but, no, I'm not. In fact, I'm genuinely happy for Amanda. I sincerely wish her and her perfect husband a long, healthy, happy and perfect life together with their perfect children.
The reason for my admitted envy is that my own marriage, like everything else about my life, is far from perfect. At the age of twenty-nine, fearful of spending my life as a childless old spinster, I married the first man who came along. Alas! After being married only a short time, I realized I had made a tragic mistake and that I was doomed to serve a life sentence without any possibility of parole and no time off for good behavior.
As different as I am from the perfect Amanda so, too, is my husband the antithesis of my perfect brother-in-law. Instead of earning an annual income of six figures, my husband barely makes a yearly salary of five, considering he is more often awaiting his turn on the unemployment line than actually working at a job.
Still, it's best I not get started down that road! I could devote volumes to my husband's many faults. Instead, let me sum them up in one sentence: he's loud, abusive, uneducated, belligerent, short-tempered and completely lacking in tenderness, understanding and compassion.
There is one positive thing I can say for my husband, though, and that is that, to my knowledge, he has remained faithful to me throughout the years of our marriage—probably because no one else would want him!
For more than fifteen long, miserable years I stoically bore my cross without complaint, cursing only to myself the day I said "I do" in front of a justice of the peace. Then one night, not so long ago, I almost found the courage to leave the bastard. After a particularly bitter argument that led to blows, I got into my beat-up, rusty Ford, drove to Amanda's house and cried on her perfect shoulder. My sister did much to comfort me, and at the end of the evening, at her urging, I reluctantly went back home to my imperfect husband.
Oh, there is one other good thing I should mention about my husband. Despite his lack of consideration for his wife and children, he had the foresight to take out a substantial life insurance policy. This money has come in very handy for the kids and me. You see my poor, late husband lost his brakes while driving down the steep hill on which we live, crashed into a tree and died instantly.
Since my husband's death, the children and I have moved into a new townhouse, one much closer to my sister's home. My son and daughter are now attending the same school as their cousins and are doing surprisingly well.
As for little old imperfect me, I go to the gym with my sister twice a week and have already lost close to fifty pounds. I have also enrolled in a community college where I'm studying computer programming in hopes of a strategic career move. Best of all, there is a teacher at the college who may not actually be perfect, but he comes in a pretty close second. Together, he and I just might make the perfect couple.
You know, it's funny when you come to think of it. My husband died in a terrible car accident, leaving behind a wife and two children, and the police did not think to check to see if his brakes had been tampered with!
But, of course, they wouldn't have, would they? After all, my sister, Amanda, is perfect. What else would you expect from her but a perfect murder?
Salem thinks his sister is purr-fect, even if she does get "catty" sometimes.
(image © actioncat.com)
