She is Just. Too. Popular.

Today is my little sister, Meagan's birthday.

She is now 25 whole years old.

In honor of her special day, I would like to share with you my favorite memory of my sister.

If I may be so inclined.

Back in the early 90's, this was me and my siblings:

I am the one with the giant leg straddling the couch, my brother, Danny, is the cool dude smack in the middle, and my sister is the little one in pink.

And, I would like everyone to know that to this very day, whenever my siblings and I have conglomerated, we jump right into that position for a fun family moment.

We are that close.

It was around this time that I was about 12 years old.  My brother was 10.  My sister was 8.

When I was 12-ish, life was not so easy for me.

I had started to put on weight and was smack dab in the middle of those fabulous junior high years, complete with pimples, periods, perspiration, pudge, portliness, pouting,  and, of course, friend drama.

Well, one night at dinner, we were all conversing and having a jolly good time when we noticed my sister had dropped her fork and was loudly sobbing into her food.

Us:  Meagan!  What is the matter?

Meagan: *sob*wail*sob*wail*sob*

Us:  Meagan!  What happened?

Meagan:  I just had a really bad day at school.

Boy, could I relate.  Every day was hard for me.

I took another heaping helping of my mother's delicious home cooked food, and gave my sister my full attention.

Us:  Well . . . what happened?

Meagan:  I am just SO popular!

Now, this statement made me stop eating.

Meagan:  Everyone follows me around begging for me to play with them, and I just can't do it!  I have too many friends!  I am just too popular!

*sigh*

I ain't gonna lie, folks.

My former 12-year-old chubby self became miffed, yes, miffed at my sister that night.

Here she was complaining about too many friends and I had been contemplating paying people to befriend me.

Oh, for the drama of puberty.

Good times.

I think during that time I was slightly jealous of my skinny little sister.

She was so little . . . so cute.

I was not so little and looked remarkably like my cocker spaniel.

Brace yourselves for the next picture.

It.

Is.

A.

Doosie.

And now, dear readers, if you could just humor me for a moment, I would like to write young Taylor a little poem . . . from old Taylor.

"Those shorts are no good.  Those shorts are too tight.

Say no to the button fly.  It just ain't right."

Thank you.

This promise I make to you:  As God is my witness, I shall never wear button-fly pants again.

Happy Birthday, Meagan!

Love,

Your older-wiser-zipper-wearing sister.