"It’s true Penina needs to work on the middah of emes. But that doesn’t mean you can speak this way. We all have what to work on”
“Hey! Is that my sweater?” I point an accusing finger at the offending cream button-down. Penina looks straight at me and answers through a mouthful of breakfast, “No.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter, making a face both at the utter grossness of her lack of manners, and to express my disbelief. I know for sure it’s mine. That little red stain, where my strawberry ice cream dripped and showed itself to be maybe one percent strawberries and 99 percent food coloring is still there, above the pocket. And she’s wearing it. My sister. What a liar. I turn away in disgust, and she continues crunching her cereal, very loudly and completely unremorsefully.
I mean, how could she? Not the wearing my sweater part, that is the sad reality of having a sister that is 13 months older and half a size bigger than you. Because she’s the one that’s half a size bigger, I refuse to share clothes with her, which means that we sometimes end up with doubles. That suits us both just fine. Except that for Penina, it means having two of the same outfit available for use, like when hers is in the laundry hamper. That makes me mad. But it’s more the lying that I can’t stand. She’s my older sister, for goodness’ sake. Shouldn’t she at least be embarrassed to lie outright?
Nope, this is not the first time I’ve caught her in the act. But whenever I tell my mother, she just sighs and says, “I wish you girls would just get along. Why can’t you share?” But that’s so not the point. It’s the lying that’s the point. I just explained that, didn’t I?
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