My little sister Jennifer, aka Herbie, is 40 today. I'm astonished. She still looks about 12. And I'd give you photographic evidence of this, except I don't have a single dang photo of the kid on this computer! Take my word for it. Not a day over freshman year of high school, at most. That's my story.

Who's Herbie?
[1]When I lived with roommates, it always cracked me up when I'd end a phone conversation with Jennifer. I'd say, "Bye, Herbie," and the roommate would say, "Who's Herbie?" and I'd say, "my sister." "Your sister's named HERBIE?!"

Jennifer is six years younger than me. When she was tiny, she loved Sesame Street. And her favorite character was Grover, especially the way his arms moved, spaghetti-like, on sticks. Grover's best friend was Herbert Birdsfoot. Grover would always greet Herbert with "Hey-a Her-bie bay-beee!" and a hearty smack on the back with his wobbly arms.

Jennifer would come up to me so often yelling "Heya Herbie bay-beee" and smacking me in a Grover-like fashion that I started calling her Herbie. She in turn called me Herb. We have been Herb and Herbie (but only to each other--no one else calls us that) ever since--something like 37 years. oy.

Anyway, happy birthday, Herbie bay-beee! I love you!

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