Progeny

I haven't any sisters. My mother thought it was quite sad - then again, she didn't know how much I blamed my brothers for things being broken/going missing in our house. It was probably best I didn't have to compete with anyone for clothes, shoes or make up. There may well have been death. My sister's most likely. Thankfully, my father remained the voice of reason and told Lady London in no uncertain terms, there would be no more Londons!

And then, this weekend, I went to a friend's hen party. Slightly disastrous - I got my lipstick on the bridesmaid in the midst of exciting news. Got prosecco on the same bridesmaid. Then telling me more about said exciting news, she chucked yet another glass of prosecco over her bag. At dinner, we all had glo-sticks. I snapped mine. It broke. And spattered the hen's beautiful white and red dress in neon yellow. I could have cried while she laughed to tears as I scrubbed the stains away in the ladies. But by the by. The hen's party had been diligently and lovingly arranged by her younger sister. You'd think a hen party would be the source of all conflict and internalised jealousy. And it was completely the opposite. It was a celebration of sisterhood. Their closeness, how they interchangeably spoke about the same things, almost in unison. How respectful they were to each other. All of the sex questions for the Mr & Mrs the sister refused to read, because her sister does not do anything of the sort. She and her fiance hold hands. Dats it.

It warmed me, more than the several bottles of wine and prosecco and champagne we went through. More than the espresso martini shots. Even more than the huge platter of mac'n'cheese. I love cheese. So much. The point is here somewhere. Yes, there we are.

I've written some appalling siblings. Because they exist, and they do make fascinating characters. The ones I treasure, are the good ones. The supportive ones. Those who will patiently listen, advise, even step into the breach to protect their sibling from anything and everything. The best ones will let you borrow those clothes, make up and shoes, knowing they'll never see them again.

The girl you grew up with. Who taught you how to get around your parents and your grandparents. Who let you copy her essay, she did two years ahead of you. Who picked you up from that terrible party because Dad let her borrow the keys, and took you to Maccy D's for an apple pie to cheer you up. The girl who didn't complain about the sucky Christmas gift you bought her because she knew you'd just lost your job. Who didn't say a word about your evil ex, but slashed tires for you on the sly when realisation hit. The girl who went to birthing classes with you, who sewed the tear in your wedding dress in the toilets, who cried with you through Titanic and made you watch that horror film with her, just so she could scare the crap out of you during a sleepover. Who calls you, just when you need to hear her voice, and who loves you more than you know. The best friend you didn't ask for, but got anyway.

Naturally, biology does not determine sisterhood - but today, for International Women's Day - let's celebrate that connection. It's a beautiful thing to behold.