Ms. Purrfect

My sister Kelly was quite the big wig. She had a corner office with IBM which, come to find out, is a very big deal. I mean, I said, "Big deal!" the first time she gave me the tour. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say so I told her how impressed I was that she had her own soda fountain in the breakroom. That didn't make it better. 

Kel loved the fancy business life and all the perks that came with it. I use to tease her that she was Charlie Casas 2.0 because she really was. Kelly was the ultimate power player and truth be told, I was not just impressed by her, I was extremely proud of her. She was amazing.

I still remember when Kelly, newly promoted, bought her first Jaguar. I was excited thinking it was an actual cat and not just a bit disappointed to find out it was a stupid car. The first time I rode in her fancy jalopy was my birthday. Two of my girls and I had driven down to visit my parents for my birthday. We were going to spend the long weekend with my mother doing girl things like going to Tijuana to eat and barter the day away. Instead, once Kelly heard I was coming down, a new plan was hatched by my sister. It involved a fancy dinner in a fancy restaurant with fancy drinks. This wasn't my first fancy rodeo with Kelly so I didn't even try to fight it. 

The night of my birthday, I had my girls bathed and dressed and their hair was even brushed. I looked pretty decent as well however I can't guarantee my hair was brushed. Kelly showed up looking perfect, as usual. Actually, that reminds me of my mother's pet name for her, Ms. Purrfect. It's only funny because it was true. But I digress. So, my parents, my two girls and I head out to the driveway fully expecting to jump in my minivan when my sister informs us we are all riding in her new Jag and not only because she would rather die than be seen in a minivan. She wanted us all to experience the magnificence of riding in a Jag, driven by Ms. Purrfect. Again, just kill me now.

So, Ms. Purrfect gets behind the wheel, Mr. CFC gets in the passenger seat, my mom, the two girls and I squish into the backseat. Yeah, put the two squatty body women in the back with two kids. Great idea! Does Kelly start the car? Oh, no! She turns around and points her perfectly manicured finger at her two nieces and gives them the rundown. No touching anything. Don't touch the back of the front seats. Don't touch the windows. Don't put your dirty shoes on the seat. Don't touch the door locks, the heat and air buttons, the radio buttons, the phone charger thing-a-ma-jig. Don't. Touch. Anything.

My girls sat perfectly still listening to every word of their favorite aunt in the world, nodding their little heads in agreement after each edict was delivered. I sat in stunned silence trying to grasp the amazing opportunity in what was happening. I mean, seriously, Kel. Did she honestly think I wouldn't pick up what she was laying down? Did she even know me? This was going to be fun.

Finally, with everyone fully and completely informed of the legalities involved in riding with rich crazy people, the car was started and off we went. All was well as we cruised through the neighborhood making our way to the freeway. Music played softly in the background as my father and sister discussed business in the front seat while all the estrogen in the back seat sat perfectly still and quiet. Not. Touching. Anything. Until we got on the freeway.

I'm no dummy. I knew if any rule was broken while on the city streets, my sister would pull that Jag over and make me walk. But the freeway? God bless the freeway. As we cruised along I began playing with every button I could find, asking, "What's this one do? Ooohhhh! How about this one? Aaahhhh! Oh my gosh! I didn't know I could do that from back here! This is awesome!! Hey! These are like the trays on an airplane! Cool!!"

If my sister didn't already have a brain tumor at the time, I might have worried it started with me in the back seat of her Jaguar that night. There were some bad words said later when we were alone in the restaurant bathroom. One of us was saying them. One of us was laughing until she cried. Eventually, we both laughed and called each other idiots which is short for I love you in sister-speak.

I'm preparing to go car shopping which I hate almost as much as I hate clothes shopping. But, I need a car. I wish my sister was here to go with me because she was the ultimate businesswoman wheeler-dealer. But, she's not. So, in honor of her many accomplishments in this life and as a remembrance of her, I will be pushing every button during those test drives. But not until we're on the freeway.

Ms. Purrfect in her corner office

Idiot 💕