51 years ago today, my parents felt it necessary to give me a baby sister. I already had a dog so I have no idea why they thought I needed a sister. It’s okay, because she turned out to be fine. They named her Katharine. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I was only two and I had a dog named Martini, so what did I know about naming?
Three years later, my parents felt that it was absolutely necessary to give oddly-named-Katharine and me-the-Timmy a sister. This was my second one for those of you who lost count, but Katharine’s first (and last).
Since Mom and Dad completely lacked the imagination necessary for picking one of the other 364 days of the year, they gave us a Nancy on Katharine’s birthday. Bad move. Not recommended.
So, yes, my two sisters share the same birthday, three years apart. I’m sure if you asked either one nicely they will tell you with smiles and laughter and giggles how much fun they had sharing a birthday with the OTHER daughter, and how much joy there was in not even getting a day all to themselves.
Regardless of whether they loved sharing the day or not, I love my sisters and wish them both a Happy Birthday today. No, I’m not going to put in a note for each of them. They share a day, so they can share a fucking blog message.
Happy birthday Kath! Check your voicemail!
Happy birthday Nance! It was nice talking to you and I’m sorry I told my nephew about the time I almost cut my junk off with a hatchet at summer camp. Just remember that “uncle” is just French for “Traumatize the kids, asshole!”
My sisters are fantastic, successful, wonderful mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, people.
That’s it, that’s all.
Ciao for now.
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