Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

Recently GG (aged 10) has been annoying ET (aged 14) by imitating her.

I don’t mean mimicking, by the way. She’s not repeating everything her sister says in a mocking voice.

Well, okay, SOMETIMES she is. But that’s not what I’m talking about here.

I mean, she’s actually trying to BE LIKE her older sister.

She’s borrowing her sister’s make-up, hairbrush, and zit cream. She’s acquiring clothing that looks identical to her sister’s, except in a smaller size.

In other words, she attempting to transform herself into a teenager. ALREADY! At AGE TEN!

It’s just sad.

And it also enrages ET.

Which is, I suppose just an added bonus for GG.

Last week we went to the mall and ET had taken Boo in search of candy while GG and I (and the twins trapped in their stroller, of course) went to the Annoying Teenager Store.

Okay, it’s not called the Annoying Teenager Store.

That’s just a short way of saying The Store Full of Ridiculously Low-Cut and/or Ripped Clothing and Gum-Chewing Bored-Looking Teenage Girls (Some of Whom are Employees) Where Irritatingly Loud and Partially Incomprehensible Music Blares.

GG chose a pair of skinny jeans from the sale rack (she was paying with her own money, and kids get frugal when Mom’s not footing the bill) that were exactly like the pair ET had bought a few weeks before. Exactly the same, down to the little zippers on the ankles.

Yep. Zippered ankles are back. Just like 1985.

When ET saw what her sister had purchased, she freaked out.

“MOM! Those are the SAME as MY jeans! She’s bought the EXACT SAME JEANS as ME!” she shrieked. “DO SOMETHING!!!!”

I said, “ She’s allowed to buy what she wants with her own money.”

ET was not mollified. She continued to scream complaints and protests as I offered other logical comments:

“It doesn’t hurt you any if she wears the same jeans as you.”

“She doesn’t even go to your SCHOOL!”

“It’s actually a compliment. She’s trying to be like you because she thinks you’re cool.”

This last one sent her over the edge, I think, but with a final epic eye-roll, she did finally stop yelling about it.

So we rode home with ET staring out the window in stony silence, amazed at my inability to see that her sister had committed a capital offense.

And GG clutched her skinny jeans to her chest and smiled.