This is my best friend. I would say we were embryonically best friends, but that would be medically impossible, because we are twenty-two months apart. So, more accurately, we were best friends since we were ova.
No one loves her more than me. That’s probably yet another inaccurate statement, because a lot of people love her a lot, at least as much as me, and very possibly even more than me, seeing as she has two very loving parents and she is their baby. (I happen to have the same loving parents.)
I used to think I was smarter than her, because I would always help her with her math homework. (Seriously, what kind of brainiac has trouble with math?!) But then she started using words I had never heard of before, let alone could spell, let alone could use sufficiently in everyday conversation. We all used to tease her about it, all three of her older siblings, which would have made most other kids dumb it down a notch, but I think she secretly loved being a word-nerd. Or maybe not so secretly, since she once yelled, “Come on, ref, you’re grasping at straws!” during one of Hubs’ collegiate basketball games.
And now our little Miss Stinky Face Smarty Pants is little Miss Stinky Face Smarty Pants, Attorney-at-Law, thank you very much, and we couldn’t be prouder, or less amazed. Less amazed because there really wasn’t any doubt you would pass what is arguably the toughest state bar, the same way we weren’t surprised you graduated law school (even after you basically promised you failed every single final exam).
So no one in New York better even think about suing me, because I have the best lawyer in town. Or, at least my sister works for him, and can probably get me a discount. AW, SNAP! (I’m kidding of course.)
I love you, Stinky Face, Esquire.