Happy Birthday to P

Let's just take a moment to remember my fabulous late sister, P, shall we? A gal who knew how to purge a closet of useless clothing (Have you worn that in the last six months? Then toss it!); who was invariably the mostly chicly dressed gal at the party; with a wit as dry as the Sahara; who could somehow light a cigarette and two drags later have filled the entire room with smoke; who knew from the age of nine her life would be a brief one, yet never met a joke she didn't like; whose sense of irony never failed her; whose feet I failed to rub often enough; whose wry smile I'll miss til my dying day;  the classy broad who taught my four year old daughter to read.

Shout it from the rooftops: She will always carry on.

And hey! How bout that Sloane gal whupping Serena's queenly behind?  You go, girl.

Here, P, this Bud's for you. Cheers.