For my sister, on her wedding day
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“Good evening ladies and gents,
Today I’ve had the special honour of being my beautiful big sister’s Maid of Honour, and as you all know, a major part of that role is taking the gorgeous couple’s close friends and family on a magical journey into the deep and darkened chasms of the bride’s history.
Of course, being the dutiful Maid of Honour – and exceedingly considerate sister that I am – I’ve chosen to take the high road and to paint for you a picture of Amy which is more or less G-rated.
Amy would be happy to know that I’ve been kind enough to neglect to mention a few valuable ‘lessons’ she has taught me throughout the more uncomfortable moments of her childhood and adolescence – which for me, really describe my sister in a nutshell.
For instance, I wouldn’t dare describe the lesson Amy taught be about the concept of patience when Mum announced that we could go to Maccas for tea, and Amy, being the exuberant little Maccas-crazed heifer that she was at the time, ran so fast and clumsily down the back steps that she tripped and put a tooth through her lip.
I wouldn’t describe the lessons in moderation Amy has taught me during the various family car trips which were destroyed by Amy’s penchant for stuffing herself with said take away and then tossing her cookies on the way down the nearest mountain.
Or how this strange habit continued well into Amy’s later teen years as her fondness for fast food developed into a keen interest in Cruisers, Breezers and UDLs.
I wouldn’t think of describing the lesson Amy taught me in persistence during her first relationship with one young family friend who clearly, to anyone but Amy, even at a young age batted for the other team.
I wouldn’t describe Amy’s many suffocating attempts to entrap the poor young chap as her boyfriend by telling everyone who would listen that he was, and planting long, slobbery and completely uninvited kisses all over him until their play dates – which had been to that date quite frequent – suddenly stopped.
I wouldn’t dare make reference to the lessons in infatuation Amy taught me through the excerpts of her adolescent diary, which I fumbled through on many an occasion whilst on the prowl for some light reading entertainment. Let’s just say, the contents did not disappoint:
“I heart Josh Cooper so much, I want to pash him into eternity” and “I want a boyfriend soooo bad I could diiiiiie”.
I wouldn’t describe the various lessons in longing Amy taught me through her various graceless crushes on the string of indescribably awkward young men Mum and Dad would on occasion get to help around the house. The irrigation ditch digger, the builder, the electrician and the landscaper – the list goes on.
I wouldn’t think of mentioning how Amy would talk for hours to me about their projected wonderful futures together, but how whenever they actually came to the door or inside for a drink, Amy would frantically run to the opposite side of the house and hide in the bathroom.
I wouldn’t dare describe the lesson in diplomacy Amy taught me during her first date with the one poor bastard who actually put up with this awkward dance long enough to ask her out. I wouldn’t describe the day of said date as being one of the longest in my life – getting Amy’s dark denim, hipster low rise flares pressed and ready, her messy bun done with a tasteful amount of butterfly clips, and her lip smackers on just right.
I wouldn’t describe how it all went terribly wrong after he outrageously stuck his tongue down Amy’s throat after their first ride at the local Easter show, shortly before she made a quick exit and described to me and my bestie how she was “sure it shouldn’t feel like you’re choking” as she politely washed it down with a diet coke, on the way home from dropping him like a tonne of bricks.
I wouldn’t dare tell you about the lesson in tact Amy taught me as a result of her first long-term relationship with an again, sexually-confused and socially inept young man, and how it ended with Mum and Dad threatening to call the police if he ever set foot near our house or called again.
I wouldn’t describe what a roller coaster ride it’s been being the sister of our Amy. In fact, being the devoted sibling that I am, I’d describe only the glowing sides of my beautiful, kind, talented, and hilarious sister.
I would describe my early learnings in loyalty during my younger days at primary school, when Amy would hold my hand – in all my flap-hatted glory – all the way to the bus stop in the morning, even if it meant she was bullied for hanging out with a kindergartener.
And the lesson in bravery I learned when Amy would take the blame, even when it really was me who ate the last cherry ripe that Dad had had his eye on all Thursday.
Or what Amy taught me about inclusion, when she would let me tag along with her at her mates’ teenaged parties, even if it did end up with her holding my hair back – while I projectile vomited toxic blue gunk through their parents’ bathrooms and subsequently, all over the passenger seat of her prized Mitsubishi Mirage.
I would describe Amy as being the person who – while I’ll rarely admit it – I credit as being the strongest and most positive influence in my life.
I would describe Amy as being my best friend, in the truest sense of the phrase.
So, if you subscribe to the theory of ‘good things happening to good people’, as I do, in light of this description, it would seem only logical that Amy and Dave’s paths would collide.
It’s news to nobody here that this gorgeous man, the big brother I always wanted – who thankfully takes last place in what I earlier described as being a long line of Amy’s relationships – is a very lucky one.
And it goes without saying that my big sis has, in her characteristic style, in choosing to marry him today, taught me yet another essential life lesson: to save the best ‘til last.
So, on that note, I’d like to raise a toast: to the happy couple! May they live a long and happy life together.”
Image of ‘happy bride and groom…‘ via Shutterstock
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