My server has been down for the last few days so I know a few of you were probably thinking, well, I don’t have to worry about my birthday blog.  WRONG!!  Birthday blogs are like birthdays…you get hit with them whether you like it or not.  So here we go Dinky, Happy Birthday!

My sister from another mother was born in 1954.  I don’t have a lot of the details.  I know that, like me, she came from a family of all girls.  Unlike me, she falls in the middle.  Apparently, she is the only sister whose name doesn’t end in an A.  She has mentioned that this may be because she is of different descent.  She also mentioned circus people.  Having purchased shoes for her one Christmas, I can see where she might be related to clowns.  She was raised on an Iowa farm, by Iowa farmers.  However; she is not an Iowan farmer herself.  There is a family story with regard to her ability to raise crops.  Upon her first attempt to plant tomatoes, cucumbers, and cantaloupe in the rich loam that is the Iowa soil, she harvested weeds.  The neighbors viewed it as a play and brought lawn chairs to watch the gardening disgrace.  Neighborhood children took to playing T-ball among the thistles.  This was all due to the fact that she was naive enough to believe the seed pamphlet that she had received in the mail (can you imagine what an easy mark she is for all those infomercials if she believes a seed catalog?  Billy Mayes must be salivating).  The following year her father, who is said to have been a man of few words that were chosen well and placed carefully, told her to use chicken compost.  The garden then took over her life.  See, that’s how it is with us Chickentush’s…feast or famine.  We don’t do things half-assed.  It’s fully assed or nothing.

I remember the first trip Dinky and I took together.  It was a family trip to Las Vegas.  We went with the in-laws and our husbands, Gunky and Doombah.  One evening we decided to go to a little Italian restaurant and Grandpa Snickle went to get the van.  At this time Grandma Tootsie was in a wheelchair and he had asked me to watch her while he was gone.  Power goes to my head.  I can’t help it, and it is no family secret that when I first entered the family Tootsie and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye.  Once Snickle had left I leaned down and whispered in Tootsie’s ear, “Look who is in charge now.  One push and you are out in the middle of Vegas traffic.  I bet you wish you had been nicer to me all these years.  I bet you wish you had chosen your words more carefully!”  I hear a noise and look up and Dinky is laughing so hard she is about to cry.  You see, one of the reasons she likes me is that I took all the pressure from Tootsie off of her.  Needless to say, I didn’t push her into traffic.  It was always an idle threat, but I knew then and there that Dinky had my back!  I almost expected to see her hand creep down and join mine on the handles of the wheelchair.  I was ready for a demonic voice to come from deep within her and say “It’s go time!”  But that didn’t happen.  It was enough just knowing that someone in the family at that time knew what hell I had been and was going through and understood why I might make such a threat.  Of course, Tootsie told Snickle never to leave me in charge of the wheel chair again and then smelled my coffee to see if I had been drinking, but it was totally worth it.  Two things had been accomplished, 1) Tootsie knew she had better be nice to people who were in charge of her care, and 2) A very real bond had been formed between me and Dinky.  Years later, we went back to Vegas with just Dinky and Gunky.  We had a great time.  They all won money and I drank.  Oh, and we ate out a lot.  Everyone else wants to do it again.  I can’t remember why.  

So my sister that I never shared a womb with a view with isn’t a farmer, she is a video gamer (think poker not  Mario), she has a great sense of humor.  She would have to.  To quote Tootise, “she sells worms for a living.”  I will not explain further.  She also lives with my brother-in-law.   I will not explain further.  She is also a first rate pie artist.  See these are the things that become important as you age.  You worry less about where the good schools are and more about where the good pies are.  Anyway, Dinky makes doozies…just ask Grandpa…he’s old enough to know.  When I think of Dinky, I think of turtle necks and jackets.  I don’t think I have ever seen her in pants that were shorter than her ankles.  I don’t even know if her legs are real.  They could be wooden for all I know.   I’m not 100% sure I have ever seen her arms uncovered…it is possible that she is a robot.  That would explain the always being nice bullcrap.  No one is that nice…not always.  I mean really, everyone gets set off once in awhile.  I think she is an alien with a robotic body and a human head but her mind is controlled by a microchip that doesn’t let her emote anything other than pleasant.  For those of us who have grown bitter this is a real pain in the ass.  Once, when I was at my in-laws, I was loading the dishwasher.  Grandpa Snickle came in and asked what I was doing.  I told him I was trying to become the favorite daughter-in-law.  He told me (without even a moment’s hesitation) not to even bother.  Dinky would always have that spot.  Since then I feel that I have been free to be the B@+*# I can be!  Thanks for that Dinky!  Whether you know it or not the pressure is on you.  You are the fave.  You have to do your best to not let them down.  You have to keep that smile going and that charm shining, and all I have to do is bitch and whine and slack off and we are both fulfilling our places within this family.  I think I win this one!

So far this has been pretty tame.  I haven’t mentioned that she drinks like a fish, swears like a sailor, dances nude at a club in Flippin, or bull rides at the local rodeos at least three nights a week.  Her three pack a day smoking habit can go with her to the grave, for I will never tell.  Those are just part time gigs that just make up a tiny bit of our Dinky.  She shouldn’t be defined by them.  I know when she’s in Wal-Mart people (mostly men, I would say anglers but we all know what their angle is) try to stop her for autographs and try to make advances, luckily her black belt in taekwondo usually keeps them from getting too close (did you know you could buy one of those with green stamps?). She is having a little bit of an issue with me being a Duchess.  Ever since I have received my titile she keeps trying to claim that she’s the Baroness of Flippin or some such nonsense, but when you get to be her age the mind goes a little nutsy cuckoo.  It’s either that or she’s a total hater, so I’m going to go with the losing her mind thing.  She should know that you can’t just call yourself a Baroness and have it be a done deal.  Didn’t she learn anything in the last election.  For heaven’s sake,  lipstick and pigs, lipstick and pigs!  Bless her poor old heart.  It’s just sad when the mind goes.  I had hoped it wouldn’t happen to her.  She’s such a sweet old dear.  The last time she was here I did notice some noun aphasia.  I was hoping it was just the menopause, but it could be the early warning signs of sometimers.  (I don’t think she has alltimers yet)  She’s certainly not the oldest of my sisters.  Once again, she just falls in the middle.   Happy 75th Birthday Dinky!  Stay home and keep your clothes on tonight.  Even bad girls deserve a night off!