Hi! It’s P. P the sister of B (rittny). Yes, it’s really me! I know you’ve been anticipating “meeting” me since Britt first posted about our marshmallow escapades two summers ago at about this time. Well, fast-forward a few summers, a couple of continents, and about four thousand 1 oz. servings of marshmallows later and, ta-da! It seems we’re kind of back where we started. Except for I’m a new high school graduate turned gypsy who has undoubtedly found myself living, observing, and worrying about my sister’s new home…and life in America.

No no, silly girls, it’s not like that. There haven’t been any threats on my beautiful B (to quote Jay-Z) and I haven’t given her a curfew or anything like that. It’s just, watching her adjust to life back here in America is kind of frightening. But oh so exhilarating too! There are hundreds of things she can do now! She’s able to buy pork (ew) in public! There’s no need for shifty expressions while hiding a whole honey-cured ham under a jacket anymore. (Even though I don’t recall anytime when she did really this. Actually, I’d probably be too embarrassed to even claim her as my sister if she did do this). She can also walk around the supermarket in a pair of 10-year-old Abercrombie cut-offs and an XXS Limited cami if she wants! (Even though I don’t recall anytime when she really did this. Actually, I’d probably be too embarrassed to even claim her as my sister if she did do this.)

All joking and my ADHD aside, I kind of really loved having my sister in Kuwait. Yes, I know that’s incredibly selfish since her hyperhidrosis (um, Britt, am I allowed to mention this to your friends?) kicked in .43 seconds after she would step outside everyday and because the people she worked with were incredibly classless and because on occasion, she got flicked off while trying to go out for a nice meal with her cute little sister. But I can’t help wanting to secretly book her a flight back to Kuwait every Monday as I look at PostSecret and read all of the creepy weird things that American “crazies” do. Like the guy on this week’s page who likes to “Eat the last page of a really good book”. Seriously mister psycho librarian man (PLM)? Please tell me Mr. PLM that you do not live in the Oklahoma City Metro area? Pretty please? Because if you do, that’s one more reason for me to put B on a curfew.

Every time I read PostSecret it seems to scream at me “Don’t live in America! Don’t let Brittny live in America! These people, they’re mad!” Not all of you of course, I mean, I’m a proud navy blue passport-carrying person myself. And isn’t it sad how a few people who send secrets to Germantown, Maryland almost sent me boycotting my sister’s return to America? But since my picketing skills are ridiculously lame, I was forced to let her board her plane and set up camp in the heartland. She’s happy-Ulta and Taco Bueno are mere minutes from her home, the boy is happy-OU football season is just around the corner and Boz and Lucy, um, they’re freaking loving the grass. The backyard kind.

So maybe I’m the overprotective, paranoid one worrying about her. She’s probably totally over the fact that Mr. PLM may be standing behind her at Barnes & Noble. And yes, she’s completely distraught over the fact that she has to clean her own house now and the fact that familial drop-ins will be come a norm but for the most part (not completely!), she’s happy that her 40 days in the desert are terminé. I guess if you love someone you have to let them go.

I must go recover from hyperventilating over the fact that I just used the most awful cliché in my first guest-post. Please forgive me. Everyone. Even you, the PostSecret sender or you, the PostSecret lurker, yes, even you.

xo,
P

(And for those of you who are racking your brains to think of what my name is, I’ll give you a hint…it’s not Penny. Or Peggy. Or Penelope. It actually, gasp!, starts with a C.)