Nice Day for a White Wedding

My sister is getting married today.

I am going to need some serious waterproof mascara because I am sure this is going to make me sob big, fat, goopy tears all over my Disney-princess bridesmaid dress.

In my every day life, I don’t wear mascara because I’m prone to crying. But I’m smart enough to know that my sister is not letting me get out of this wedding without mascara.

It’s her wedding day, so I won’t fight her on it. And even if it weren’t her wedding day, I wouldn’t fight her on it.

For those of you who don’t know, fighting with my sister is like trying to beat your fists against a hurricane with a volcano in its midst which spits scalding pea soup at you. It’s like trying to slay a fire-breathing, poisonous, zombie dragon with only a Q-Tip to defend yourself.

Futile, is my point.

Lauren is the boss of our family. Some of you may be tricked into thinking my keen organizational skills and innate cautiousness would lead me to be the boss. But alas, I am only a Don in the Nerd Mafia. When it comes to the “Family” I grew up with, my sister muscled me out in a bloodless coup long ago.

In our family, I am just the administrative assistant. That is what being good at paperwork gets a person.

Lauren is The Boss.

Which is why it’s lucky that we get along well. We rarely have a reason to fight. But bachelorette parties are not my bag, baby.

Even so I knew that when her bachelorette party came about, I was going to have to suck it up and not fight with her. One, it was her wedding and I wanted her to be happy. Two, I knew fighting was useless.

So we made a go of it. I got the good news that Pursey Galore would also be accompanying us on this trip. My mission, as I chose to accept it, was threefold:

1) Get my sister drunk

2) Be sure there was no drama at the party

3) Raise awareness for the American Stroke Association via reckless use of Pursey Galore

So my sister and I, and a tacky purpose, and some of her friends, went out to celebrate her bachelorette status.

I should mention that one of these friends made 70 jello shots to be split amongst 6 people. Just a side note there.

I have to confess, I did a terrible job of raising awareness for the American Stroke Association. My efforts were repeatedly met with confusion. It seems that “bachelorette party” “stroke” and “money” are not words that should all go into the same sentence. Especially at a bar, which is where drunk people tend to hang out.

Drunk people often hear what they want to hear, y’know?

Ultimately, we had a lovely time, I chose to donate some of my own cash to the ASA in exchange for not being arrested for prostitution, and at no point in the evening did I look like this:

I promise, I never, ever looked like that.

So, happy wedding, tiny sister. I am so overjoyed that you are marrying a man you love, who is good and kind and shares your goals. I can’t imagine not having you around. We have had some wacky escapades and I am sure that we will continue to do so, just with more sidekicks now. In short, you may be the Mafia Don of our household but I will still miss having you boss me around.

Oh wait, no I won’t. You’re moving in with me.

In that case, bring jello shots. We may need them if you plan to continue being the boss.