I'm the youngest of 3 sisters. After spending any decent amount of time with the 3 of us, you would never doubt that we are a) 100% blood-related and b) totally insane. We all talk the same, have the same laugh, same sense of humor, same color of hair, taste in music, blah, blah blah.
This was not always true. There were many times when I felt like I was destined to be The Weird Sister. First, they were both living in LA. I was in San Francisco. Then they both got married. I was going through 3 boyfriends about every 4 weeks. Then they started having babies. The only thing close to me having babies was “Spydie”, my hanging Spider Plant. Then they both bought houses, and all they ever talked about was designing or landscaping them. I couldn't even afford to wash my sheets, let alone wonder whether sateen or Egyptian cotton was best. They just kept growing up and getting all mature, and I kept resisting, because, seriously, WHO CARES WHETHER YOU PLANT A BOUGAINVILLEA OR A CRATE MYRTLE TREE? Gah.
I proceeded on, determined to be Totally Unique, absolutely positive that getting married and having kids would like, seriously, never be me. I dated a baseball player, a musician, an aspiring actor. I tried to be a poet for like 3 weeks. I thought about being a personal trainer for 5 minutes. I even seriously considered going to design school after I'd already spent like 8 million dollars on my college education.
Then. I met Jeff. And subsequently, gave in to being...ME. I started watching HGTV and Law and Order. I stopped spending entire paychecks on something because it had a recognized label on it. I stopped caring about which band was playing at the Viper Room that week. And a Bougainvilla would totally be better there, Sandy, because it's a vine, not a tree. Duh.
I'm in a place I never imagined would suit me. But it does, it fits me better than anything else I tried. It was like I was forcing Jimmy Choo's on my designed-for-flip-flops feet. I'm more excited about what diaper bag I carry than knowing whoever the hell that Kanye West guy is.
BUT. I have my limits. There is ONE THING my sisters do that I SWEAR ON HOLY HEAVEN I will not start doing.
Oh, what, for the love of Mary, is so fun about using squiggle scissors to cut out a picture, and whathehell is a sizzix?
My sisters love to scrapbook so much that once they went up to our family’s lake house and spent the entire time inside. They even forgot to eat a couple meals because they were so into it. The thought of being stuck at a dining room table for days, putting PALM TREE STICKERS next to pictures of my trip to Mexico, is about as thrilling as…I can’t even think of something so awful.
And they’re so disappointed in me. After all, I’ve come so far, with the whole getting married and pregnant thing. I even went from borrowing 8 bucks so my checking account won’t be in the red to balancing my checkbook in an excel spreadsheet linked to my budget. They just assumed that scrapbooking would be the next logical step for me.
I'm so insistent that I will NEVER start that forsaken hobby, but they just do things like pat my shoulder and said “You’re totally going to want to scrapbook your wedding.” Uhhh… 15 months later, I have managed to get all my pictures IN A FREAKING ALBUM and that just about sent me to a psychiatrist begging for Geodon.
Now they’re saying, “Just wait till you have your baby. You’ll totally want to create a special album for them to look back on when they’re older.”
To which I say, just to piss them off, “Nooooo, I find nothing wrong with the way Mom did it. You know, throw all the pictures into a file box in no chronological order whatsoever. That way we won’t be able to tell the difference between any of the baby pictures. You know, Amy, like that baby picture you submitted to the yearbook’s ‘Guess Who’ section that really ended up being a picture of me?”
Any hobby where I have to purchase crap from a store with a name like “Once Upon A Memory”, where paper costs like $1.75 a sheet is, like, so not me.
*I have to say, this is not meant in any way to bash scrapbookers. I do not think you all are wackjobs for enjoying that hobby. In fact, I admire your patience, attention to detail and ability to sit down and focus for 5 hours straight without so much as a potty break.