I remember sneaking into your room when I was little to steal your chokers and listen to your coveted hit clip (remember N’SYNC’s “Pop”?). I wanted to be you. When you became a Brownie Scout, I wanted to be a brownie. When you were learning the splits in cheerleading, you’d best believe I wanted to be a cheerleader (mom said no, though.

She said to let you have your own “thing,” which was a good call. You’ve seen me move—mixed reviews, am I right?) I still love and prefer your hand-me-downs. You shop so much better than I ever could, and it shows.

Honestly, I never thought we would be actual friends. I mean, Mom always said we would be the best of buds someday, and I never believed her. It just didn’t make sense. I mean, we did more than just drive each other nuts. We were absolutely brutal to each other. We called each other awful things all the time.

We manipulated our younger siblings into taking a side in every fight we had. You bruised my rib once, and I definitely busted your lip up against your braces another time. We were bad. And I'm sorry. If I could take any of it back, I would, and I know you would, too.

Somehow, you still managed to be a good sister. You were always there when I needed you. You defended me when the bullies on the bus made fun of my red doc martin clown shoes in first grade. I remember when I was on the landline phone with my then-boyfriend as a high school sophomore, and he made me cry.

You busted the closet door open, took the phone, yelled at him, and broke up with him for me. You took me out with your cooler, older friends after. You also make me some dope stickers in your spare time.

Look, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend things are always hunky-dory with us now that we’re older, because they aren’t. We still butt heads. You’re a little bossy, and I’m very stubborn, and we are both pretty passive-aggressive. But its great to have someone to reminisce about dad’s never-ending projects and mom’s goofy punishments (shoutout to the "happy-sad" spoon and the Listerine strips).

I don't know when or why things changed, but I'm not about to question it. You're my best friend, my partner in crime. I love being your confidante, and I love that you jam with me to the Cheetah Girls soundtrack when we go on trips. I love that you chose me as your maid of honor (that one was really a gamble. You sure you trust me?).

I love knowing that someday I get to be the best bad aunt to your kids, because you know I will be. When I babysit, I’m gonna feed them non-organic mac n cheese and teach them how to do mild to moderately dangerous things, like teaching them how to climb trees, mattress surf, and make flamethrowers out of hairspray cans (I'll wait until they are sixteen for that last one, just for you). And you’ll forgive me - because you’re cool like that.

I look forward to being your best friend when we are old. I'll have you to reminisce with and hurl the occasional insult at. Get ready, sis. We're in it for the long haul.