“I’m the oldest. I’m the wild one. I should be going with you at least,” my sister pouts, her perfectly manicured nails tapping on my dresser as I roll clothes into my backpack attempting to hold back a laugh. “Your form of wild and my form of wild are two totally separate things Bethany,” I inform her. She stops tapping her nails and stares at me as if shocked. “It’s true, come on, you think putting on a glitter covered mini dress and three, wait no four inch stilettos is wild,” I say, ...holding up my fingers to emphasize my point. Her stare holding, not a hint of amusement so I continue. “You think staying out dancing in Las Vegas until four in the morning then crashing in the limo on your way to the penthouse suite at the Bellagio is wild. I think jeans, tees, flip flops and sleeping in hostels as I take trains across Europe is wild. You wouldn’t survive more than two days without a warm shower and crisp Egyptian cotton sheets to sleep on.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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