My nephews chalk it up to "sister telepathy" (which, I'll admit, is what we told them it was), that strange sixth sense between siblings that causes them to giggle hysterically when one of them turns to the other, says "see—food!" and proudly displays a mouth full of half-chewed peas. (I never said our humor was particularly sophisticated.)
The thing is, my sister and I have known each other our whole lives. Nobody else quite understands the habit we both have of checking our bagels to make sure those are really raisins and not ants before we eat it. Or why both of us will travel an hour to Whole Foods just to use the soap dispenser in the bathroom—but not on rainy days, when there might be suicidal frogs on the road. The truth is, nobody understands me like my sister. Which is probably why nobody can make me laugh quite like her.
My sister was the one who did my makeup for me before my dance recitals, in such a memorable way that I have not worn makeup since for fear of replicating her work. She introduced me to the wonder that is Hamburger Helper, something we'd never had in our house growing up. (Right now, both of my parents are reading that line and saying "Hamburger Helper? Why did we even bother with the fresh veal and pork chops?") And she has let me be the crazy, sometimes irresponsible, but always entertaining aunt to her two precious boys. It just doesn't get better than that.
So, to my two nephews, who still don't quite get why Mom and Auntie Stacey were laughing so hard they were crying when Mom gave Grandpa a pair of used socks, I can only tell you this: some day, many years from now, you two are going to be at a baseball game or out to dinner and one of you will turn to the other and say "what do you call a herd of caterpillars?" And you will both laugh so hard that milk will come out of your nose.
Nobody else will get it. Onlookers might even think the milk thing is disgusting. But you two will get it. And you will think, brother telepathy.
Happy Birthday, Kim!