I wish I could say I’ve traveled the world and lived lots of interesting places, but that just wouldn’t be true. I’d only lived in one place until I moved to Italy for a short season, I’ll go into more detail about that soon. For now, let’s just say my home is Chicago. Of course, there was the time I spent away at college, which ended up being a terrible waste of time. Nothing against college, it just wasn’t for me.
Have you heard the word Smudget? Probably not, it’s not very popular; it means a small budget! What was my dad’s obsession with a budget? I didn’t get it; he had plenty of money, so why was he so worried about it? I tuned him out, not only did I not see the importance of the subject, but I thought I had better things to do with my time. I’m not a numbers kind of girl, I don’t hate math, but I’m not a fan of it either. My older sister Audrey enjoys analyzing reports; it’s like a hobby, but not me. I’d rather read a book than a spreadsheet.
I don’t understand it, but my sister loves having a routine. She thrives on it. She’s always right on schedule, and if she isn’t busy, she isn’t happy. I, on the other hand, enjoy a more relaxed pace, but I was working just as hard as she was. Audrey enjoyed all the families’ social obligations, unlike myself which felt there was no worse torture.
I woke to the sound of my alarm, and for a moment I forgot I was back in Chicago. I didn’t sleep well. I’m not sure if it was the time change or all the memories of my mother stirred up on the flight home. I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep for a week. I agreed to this meeting with my Dad when I was negotiating with him to change my flight, so that I could have another week in Italy.
The train took me to the airport, and I settled into my not so comfort- able seat in coach. My father purchased a first class ticket for me, but I changed my flight so I could spend another week with Milo. Now I had to live with coach. As much as I enjoyed my extra week, now I missed the comfortable seat in front.
Younger or older sister, does it really matter? Seriously, if you’re ask- ing this question you must be an only child. Of course it matters, it’s not like a disease, but it does matter. I’m the youngest, the baby. I’ll argue that I don’t act like one, I’m fun-loving, free-spirited, creative, and resourceful, but my older sister would very quickly correct me. I hope you picked up on the quickly correcting me because that’s what big sisters do.