True love. .

If you think you know what true love is, this story may inspire you to think again.

This post serves as both at story, and a confession. My sisters love for me was recently tested, and I am proud to say, proved true. . .
It was a typical girl's afternoon out of the town. My ensemble was complete. Spray tan. . . check. Pedi. . . check. Hair fashionably styled with luscious locks (that regretfully do not belong entirely to me). . . check.

After one quick stop for lunch our day would be complete. I was standing in line waiting to order when I heard a squeal, followed by the whispering of my name in a frantic tone. I quickly turned around and discovered a terrified expression on Lindsey's face. Scanning the room for disaster I was increasingly confused, as there did not seem to be any ex-boyfriends or deadly weapons in the vicinity. Dumbfounded by what could possibly merit such a reaction I turned to my sister for an explanation. Lindsey only managed to motion towards her feet and with the lift of her big toe, the shocking discovery was made.

Apparently with the last flip of my hair, a large lock had become loosened and fallen to the ground. Without my knowledge or any hesitation, Lindsey had gracefully leapt onto the glossy curl and used both feet to mask my potentially horrifying moment. Her curled toes clearly revealed her commitment to keep my secret safe and for that, I will be eternally touched.

They say there is no greater love than what a mother has for her child. I would like to propose that there is not greater love nor understanding than that shared by sisters. (Especially sisters who share your same dirty little secret).

How far would your loved ones go to keep your secrets safe? -Theresa

Cutie Patootie. . .?

For most of us, this term brings with it images of pigtails, ruffles, sugar, and spice. For Dr. . . . let's just call him Dr. McDelusional, this term means something quite different.It was the beginning of a seemingly ordinary work day, and what was only my second day at a new hospital. Making my way through the recovery room I was somewhat distracted by a confident, loud voice booming "Hey cutie patootie!" While my initial reaction was to look around for the fresh young face, the reality is. . . I was, in fact, that face. I did what any reasonable woman would do and hurriedly continued on my way. I had not gotten three steps when the voice more forcefully beckoned "Ya you, new girl, cutie patootie. Aren't you the one I gave that nickname to yesterday?" I reassured him that I was not the original receiver of the glorious title. Assuming I was just being modest, Dr. McDelusional gave me a smug flirtatious smile and insisted "No, you're the one." I firmly reassured him this time that I would most definitely remember such an encounter, as I have not been called cutie patootie since the age of five.It was at that moment that a chill went down my spine and I realized. . . He did not have the wrong cutie patootie, his world was full of cutie patooties. My confirmation came when I was later making my way out of the hospital and saw the doctor with his next victim backed into a corner.I suppose one of these days Dr. McDelusional will find a happy recipient of the not-so-flattering title. Until then, I suspect I will have to endure his adoring smiles and nauseating eyebrow raises from across the recovery room. I pose this question to my fellow cutie patooties. . . Is there any age or accomplishment that will earn us a more esteemed title? Will we ever outgrow "cutie patootie", or is this simply our feminine fate? -Linds