Sisters, Sisters

Back in the day Jeanne and Bob decamped with the family unit to Miami to celebrate the Christmas holidays. On one trip Daddy ensconced the lot of us in severely modest motel accommodations a mere step above white trash trailer park conditions. Hot Pants and I instituted our annual viewing of White Christmas while cuddled up together with a vat of Coke and gigantic bag of Lay’s potato chips. The rest of the clan had gone out to the movies, but little Miss H.P. was under the weather and I chose to stay with her.

Ah, the wonders of Bing Crosby, Miss Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen, moviedom’s first anorexic dancing star. In fact, that era, when women in Florida threw fur stoles over their cocktail dresses and costume jewelry, that’s when I would have been tickled pink. There’s little I enjoy more than being all dressed up with practically nowhere to go.

When the ladies – or the gentlemen (yes, there’s a fabu drag version performed by the fellas) – busted out in Sisters, Sisters, Hot Pants and I knew we had found our lifelong theme song. And that’s how it it’s been ever since. Somehow, neither one of us managed to watch this holiday chestnut last year, and we’ve been feeling the lack of it. I, for one, am popping in that DVD today.

Merry Christmas from the Stark Raving Jewish Sisters!


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