My little sister came to stay last week.
She’s starting university – reading law, for her sins – and this was our last hurrah before she becomes bound to her books. Cocktails were
downed by the dozen sipped. Gossip was shared. And she remains, without question, my one true soulmate.
The best kid in the world.
Always beautiful, the past two years have imparted a maturity, a womanly assurance – nascent and delicate, though it is still – to amplify her existing beauty.
It has taken me by surprise.
In my sister, I behold a sprog with pigtails and a droopy diaper – the little girl, forever decorated in Wotsit dust, to whom I would read bedtime stories and sing to sleep as she squeezed my hair – and yet, to the world, she is a woman. The legs have grown. The braces have come off. The shutters from my eyes, too – and look, see what we’re dealing with.
A younger, prettier Elle Macpherson.*
Sassy and intelligent, she’s the kind of girl who could wear every piece from the new Balmain diffusion line, Pierre Balmain – whose lookbook is pictured here – without risk of them wearing her.
In leaving for university, my sister reaches another milestone on the road to adulthood.
It is difficult to let her go – my instinct, as the eldest sibling, is to protect and continue to hold her close – but I couldn’t be more proud of all that she is becoming and know that the next three years will be amongst the happiest of her life.
Good luck, little lobster, I love you.
* Such are the perils of having a sister ten years younger. For the record, I’m a shorter, rounder Dawn French… ;0)