“What on earth is that ‘country bumpkin’ dress?” My sister humiliated me in front of everyone. My “gift” in return made her flee
Picture the scene. My sister Emilyalways fashion-forward, thin as a rake, the very picture of style. And me? Well, Im just your average woman. A little curvier here, a wrinkle there. Life happens, what can you do?
Every time we met, it turned into a minor ordeal. She didnt mean it maliciouslyoh noit was always “for my own good.” Shed sidle up, give me that X-ray stare, and off shed go:
“Oh, Sophie, that dress isnt exactly flattering, is it? Bit matronly.”
“Sophie, love, maybe try a different hairstyle? That ones ageing you five years.”
“Girls, look at that lipstick! Hasnt that shade been out of fashion for a decade?”
All delivered with that sickly sweet, sympathetic smile. Honestly, how is that helpful? As if I wasnt already aware I wasnt gracing the cover of *Vogue*.
At first, I brushed it offjoked, changed the subject. But the final straw was Mums anniversary party.
Id gone all outnew dress, fresh blow-dry, makeup on point. Felt like royalty, I did.
We were all at this lovely restaurant, everyone dressed to the nines, laughing, chatting. Then Emily waltzes over, gives me the once-over, andloud enough for the whole roomannounces:
“Sophie, what *is* that dress? You look like youve raided Aunt Mabels wardrobe from the ’80s. You shouldve asked meId have picked something decent for you.”
I swear, the ground fell away beneath me. Right there, in front of *everyone*. So much for a celebratory mood.
Thats when something in me snapped. Enough was enough. I didnt make a sceneno need. Just took a deep breath, flashed my brightest smile, and cut her off mid-gloat.
“Emily, darling!” I chirped. “Thank you *so* much! Honestly, I just *adore* how you always spot everyone elses flaws! Youre such an expert!”
She preened, bless her, thinking it was a compliment.
“Since youre so *knowledgeable*,” I continued, lifting a neatly wrapped box from my chair, “I got you a little gift!”
The room perked up. She tore into it, probably expecting perfume or fancy skincare.
Inside, ladies, was a beautifully printed certificatethick cardstock, ribbon-tied. For a private session with a top psychologist. The topic? “How to Build Self-Esteem Without Tearing Others Down.” And yes, I read it aloudloud enough for the waitstaff, the chefs, and probably the taxi driver outside to hear.
“There you go, sis!” I beamed as her face froze. “Thought you might benefit. Help you feel *genuinely* confident instead of well, you know.”
The silence was *glorious*. Then Uncle Geoff snorted, and the whole room burst out laughing. Every snide remark shed ever made came back to bite her.
She mumbled something, grabbed her bag, and bolted.
Now, before you askyes, we made up. Were sisters, after all.
But heres the kicker: not *once* since that day has she criticised my appearance. Now? Its all polite small talk about the weather. And you know what? Its rather lovely.
So there you have it. If this struck a chord, do give it a thumbs-upalways appreciated! And share your own stories belowever been in a similar spot? Pass it along to a friend if you fancy a giggle!
