It’s incredibly hard to explain the absolute obsession a Big has for her Little, and every time one of us attempts to do so we come off looking like a lesbian and a stalker rolled into one big ball of psychosis. I’m doing it anyway…
It really was love at first sight. I’m not sure if the feeling was initially mutual, but I forced myself upon you by asking you on a date any time I knew you were available in hopes of minimizing the chances of anyone else discovering you, and maximizing the chances of a requited love. I dirty littled you hard, and it worked…duh (my Big taught me well). I’m not sure if I fell in love because you’re so pretty and funny and spectacular, or because you told that spineless boy it was a shame he had a penis AND a vagina and I admired your ability to say what you really felt (and not remember it). I’m also not sure how I went so long without knowing you were the captain of your high school’s softball team, but lucky for us both, I already really liked you before I discovered that horrifying information. I feel like we’ve been through so much together already. I fell in love with your roommates when I was decorating your room aka buying and crafting an excessive number of gifts for you, and then having to buy them for myself too because I loved them so much. Whatever, it’s totally necessary we have matching things. Not sorry for temporarily stealing all your left shoes by the way. Nor am I sorry that you’re still finding confetti in your pockets and socks. It’s a rite of passage.
Some of my favorite mixers have been the ones where we’ve totally neglected our respective pledge class cliques and spent the entire night together being ridiculous. That one time we had to scheme for pictures together because we forgot our cameras was hilar. We offered to take pictures for everyone else and then casually said, “Now you take one of us…no, no on your camera.” Not gonna lie, it was way more awkward than we had anticipated and did not result in the super cute Big/Little prof pic we were hoping for. Ugh I love drinking with you. Speaking of which, if you ever EVER volunteer to be a sober sister again, you better fancy the idea of being an orphan because I’ll give you up for adoption so fast you won’t know what happened. Ok, I would never do that, but seriously don’t ever be a sober sister again. Perhaps the best, and probably also the most irritating thing about my love for you, is how I find it literally impossible to be with you at any time and not proclaim to the unfortunate guy that’s stuck in the middle of a Big/Little day “This is my little!” Although, the only response I ever receive is a blank stare with eyes that say, “I’m sorry, did you see any give-a-shit on my face?” I continue to think our special relationship is important to people of the penis-having persuasion. Apparently it’s not.
Oh Littleface, I really am so lucky that the stars aligned and I get to call you my child. Even though you’re only a year younger than I am, I still feel the need to look out for you. This is unfortunate, because more often than not you end up looking out for me. I feel like I’ve watched you grow up (I’ve corrupted you) into the raging alcoholic I always knew you could be. I can’t decide if my proudest moment was when you felt you needed an explanation as to why you were staying in on a Tuesday, or when you judged a girl for not being pretty and followed it immediately with a look of horror and “Omg, I spend too much time with you.”
So my precious, adorable, perfect Little, I want you to know you’re one of the greatest people I know, and I’m so happy to have you in my life. With that said, I hope this makes you feel like your mom just kissed you in front of your friends at the playground. I’ll allow you to engage in some outlandish proclamation about how fabulous I am to get back at me. You know how I hate attention.