What kind of peasant dress is this? my sister humiliated me in front of everyone. My gift in response made her flee
Picture this. My Katya is a fashionistaalways thin as a reed, the epitome of style. And me? Just an ordinary woman. A little extra weight here, a wrinkle there. Life moves on, what can you do?
Every meeting with her felt like a small torture. She probably didnt mean harmjust helpful advice. Shed approach, scan me with her X-ray gaze, and launch in:
Oh, Sveta, doesnt that dress make you look heavier? So granny-ish.
Sveta, you should try a different hairstylethis one adds five years.
Girls, look at that lipstick! That shade went out of style a decade ago!
All delivered with a sweet, pitying smile. As if she meant well! Yet every compliment left me crushed, avoiding mirrors for a week.
It stung. Deeply. I wasnt a magazine cover to begin with, and now my own sister kept poking the bruise.
At first, I endured itjoked, changed the subject. But Moms anniversary was the final straw.
I prepped so carefully! Bought a sleek new dress, styled my hair, did my makeup. Felt like royalty.
Then, at the restaurant, surrounded by guests, Katya strutted over. Scanned me head to toe and announced loud enough for all to hear:
Sveta, what *is* that dress? Laughable! Like something Aunt Shura would wear from the village. You shouldve asked meId have picked something decent.
In that moment, the floor vanished beneath me. A public spit in the soul. What festive mood could survive that?
Thenclick. Enough silence. My turn.
No scene, though. Just a deep breath, a dazzling smile, abruptly cut short.
Katya! I chirped. Thank you! I *so* value your input! A true expert at spotting flaws in others!
She beamed, mistaking it for praise. Bless her naivety.
Since youre such an expert, I continued, lifting a prepped gift box,heres something for *you*!
Guests leaned in as she tore at the ribbonexpecting perfume, no doubt.
Inside? A lavish certificate for a top psychologist: *”Boosting Self-Esteem Without Belittling Others.”* And I *read it aloud*ensuring even the passing bus driver heard.
Here, sis! I added as she gaped. Thought youd benefit. Become *truly* confident, not just at my expense. Bullseye, right?
Her facepriceless. Confusion. Realization. Then cheeks crimson enough to shame a beet.
Silence. Then an uncle snorted. Laughter erupted. Every venomous remark shed ever made boomeranged backshed aimed to shame me, but *she* became the joke.
The finale? Mumbled excuses, a grabbed purse, and a sprint for the exit.
Yes, we reconciled. Sisters, after all.
But since that day? Not *one* comment about my looks. Now we only discuss the weather.
And honestly? Its *lovely*.
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