Return To Innocence

Love – Devotion

Feeling – Emotion

Love – Devotion

Feeling – Emotion

– Enigma


It’s happened.

It has finally happened.

My little sister thinks I’m cool.

Yep. That’s right. I’m fucking cool. Off tha chain. Dope. Da illest. #onfleek? Hey, that’s me!

I know you’re probs thinking, “Miss Clariss, tell me something I don’t know!” But this is a serious break-through, y’all. Like, I’m talking bigger than that one time I found out Luke and Leia were siblings.


A few weeks ago, Mace reached out to me needing help planning her best friend’s bachelorette party. Unfortunately for her, I was in the middle of my 6:00 p.m. power nap. I ignored her texts and FaceTime requests.

The next day, while sitting at work, I received this text: “Have you ever been to Morton’s in Charlotte?”

Without thinking, I sent a response about how Ruth’s Chris was better. And then, it hit me…



Mace is nineteen. She has never had a job. She blows her birthday cash at H&M, and Forever 21, and Chick-fil-a. She has to call my parents for tampon money.

Just where tha hell was this conversation going?

I picked up the phone and gave her a little ring-a-ling-ling.


MC: Uhh, what are you talking about?

Mace: I told you last night I needed help with this bachelorette party. Thanks for that, by the way.

MC: Well, you fools sure as shit can’t afford Morton’s. Also, just how the hell do you plan to ask Dad for that kind of cash? “Uhh, yo, Pops. Headed out to Morton’s for some grub. Spot me a Benji?” He’ll laugh in your face. Not to mention, Morton’s isn’t exactly a 19-year-old-bachelorette-party kinda place. Definitely not the sort of ambiance you are probably going for…

Mace: [Getting snotty now…] Well, I’m looking for something a little nicer than Applebee’s.

MC: [Matching her tone…] I wasn’t going to suggest Applebee’s, smartass. (Though, now that I think about it, a Blondie wouldn’t be bad right about now. Can I get an amen?! That’s right! Praise Jesus, baby.)


We chatted for a bit about restaurants and bars around the QC. I gave her my suggestions and a quick synopsis of each place on her list. I also explained how difficult it would be to find a spot willing to let in a bunch of under-age girls after hours. But then, in true big sister fashion, I recommended making late dinner reservations and told her to hope the bouncers didn’t come around carding tables after the kitchen closed.

The bachelorette party was this weekend.

Naturally, I had to get the deets.

After all, it’s been a while since I’ve had to rub permanent marker off of my hands in order to sneak a drink at a bar…

“We ate at Enso, like you suggested. The food was really good.” she said, without any inflection. I could tell there wasn’t much more to write home about when it came to her first bachelorette party. According to Mace, the night peaked at a club featuring a drag show. “A drag show?! Wow!” I exclaimed (… slightly [a lot] jealous), hoping this story would take a turn for the scandalous. “I’ve not even been to a drag show!” But then, she broke the news they had arrived 45 minutes early and left 45 minutes after the show had started.

Feeling slightly defeated for my baby sissy, I sighed, “Oh. Well. I mean, it’s hard to plan a ballin’ bachelorette party for a teen bride. Don’t worry. There will be plenty others.”

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when she blurted out the part about how I was basically the best thing since sliced bread.

Not kidding, kids.

Here’s what she said:

“I told Maddie, ‘I’m so lucky. I’m the only one out of our whole group who has a sister. This MOH mess is not an issue for me. I don’t have to choose. She’s it. She’s my girl. And she can plan tha. heck. out of a party. She likes to get crunk too. So, there’s that. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t even care if any of my friends show up. My sister and I will get turnt together and have the best time. Why? ‘Cuz dat’s juzz wha we dew [insert duck face + gang sign here].’ Maddie said she’s looking forward to my bachelorette party more than she is her own.”

I quickly wiped the snot from my top lip, and between shoulder racking sobs managed, “You’re damn straight she is, tiny dancer. You are damn straight!”

My heart grew three sizes that day, my peeps.

Three. whole. sizes.



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