Ah, my sweet, accident prone, sometimes brainless sister, Jill. God love her, she is the sweetest, most giving person you'd ever have the honor of meeting. But she's an idiot. I say this in the most loving, caring, my-sister-is-a-penis kind of way.
There are so many reasons to love my sis, and here are some of them...
One night we were chatting on the phone as she drove to Publix for some groceries. We got off the phone and Jill walked into the store, only then realizing it was the wrong Publix. Because she'd been distracted talking to moi, she drove miles out of her way and didn't realize her mistake until she was in the unfamiliar store. Dork.
Sadly, Publix is obviously a huge part of our lives. Another night we were on the phone chatting about what we needed to pick up for our week's groceries. I was idly wondering what was on sale, when Jill started reciting every BOGO and sale item in the store. From produce to meats, from snacks to condiments, she knew every one. I asked her where she got the ad or if she was viewing it online. She was not reading the ad! She had memorized all of the sale items from a previous visit to the store! Freakish.
One night Jill was out and about shopping with Mom. She'd bought this wonderful smelling lip gloss, and while driving, applied it. Seconds later she was screaming in pain. Her lips were on fire! What was wrong with this damn lip gloss? She took a closer look at the label. It was not lip gloss. It was roll-on perfume! As she frantically tried to remove the flesh eating scent, her and Mom were practically peeing their pants laughing like loons. Later, the skin on her lips cracked, peeled, and bled. Stoopid.
Last night she was carrying a 2-liter bottle of diet soda from one room to another. She accidentally dropped it and it rolled under her computer desk. She reached down and picked it up, but somehow, in the process of straightening back up, she whacked herself in the face with the soda bottle. Once again, she's bleeding. My question: How does one pick up a bottle of soda and thrust it into one's face? Moron.
Jill has a fence around her property with a gate across the driveway. When she brings the dogs out, she's usually good about making sure Mark or Wayne has closed the gate behind them. Sometimes she forgets and the dogs make a bee-line for freedom. Usually, when this happens Jill is in a state of, shall we say, undress. But does she take the time to go inside and put on some decent clothes and shoes? No, of course not. She just wants to get her dogs back safely in her yard. Twice in the last month this has happened, both times when it was in the low 30s. Picture this: Jill in shorts and tank top. No bra, no shoes. Hair like a rat's nest. Now picture in your mind, Jill running up and down her street, trying to catch the dogs, boobs swinging to and fro, hitting her in the chin, bare feet pounding the frozen pavement, yelling like a crazy woman for Reeses Peanut Butter Cup to "Come here now!" Mental patient.
Once again we're on the phone at night while she's driving. Suddenly she pulls up to what I thought was her house and starts talking to a raccoon in the yard. This in itself isn't odd for Jill, as we both talk to the critters. What was odd was when I heard the car start moving again. "Jill, where are you going? You were in your driveway." Jill says, "No I wasn't. I was in someone else's driveway!" So now we can add trespassing for the sake of wildlife entertainment to her list of abnormalities. Psycho.
Last week Jill was getting ready to go to our nephew, Jonny's play, called Romeo, You Idiot. She was applying foundation to her face, smearing it all over, when she realized the texture was all wrong. Doofus had spread hair mousse all over her face! How can one even make that mistake? Foundation is creamy, mousse is... well, it's frickin' fluffy! Jill, You Idiot!
Stay tuned blogger buddies. There are always new Jill stories to tell, and it's my goal in life to let them be heard!