You are right.
It is a mean title.
And maybe a bit extreme.
But weilding my power on my blog via a shallow and mean title makes me feel just a bit better.
Because my stupid little sister just ran her first half-marathon yesterday and even though she's worked really hard since March, and even though she's committed, devoted, and consistent, and even though she has stuck to her guns and deserves to feel empowered, elated, and euphoric, when she came to see me after the run, sporting her lick and stick outfit courtesy of Asics which exentuated every stupid size 5 curve and taut muscle, I wanted to yank the giant medal off of her neck and bop her on the noggin with it.
Not in the freakin least.
I still have ten workout dvd's in their comfy shrink wrap, perched on my bookshelf, gathering dust and taunting me as I eat pasta straight from the pot.
And in November, that selfish, egomaniac is running the NY marathon, where the medal will be much bigger and heavier, I'm sure, the pants tighter and more erogonomically proficient, and the gloating non-stop for days as my little sister crosses that 26.2 mile finish line.
I will be crying on my couch, watching the whole thing on the flat screen.
Chocolate cake in my mouth.
Pride in my heart.
Because as far as little sisters go,
and all that
I have no one else to compare her to, because
she's the only
one i've got.