I have never gone downstairs in the morning before school and been stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of one of my younger brothers in my brand-new, never-been-worn, tag-still-on Urban sundress.

However, I have gone downstairs before school and been stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of my younger sister in my brand-new, never-been-worn, tag-still-on Urban sundress.

And sweater.

And scarf.

And sweatshirt.

And tank top.

And well, you get the picture.

I don’t know where or when or how the lines between hand-me-downs and still-my-size got blurred, but at some point my sister Ally decided my closet was some kind of open-24-hour, totally-free, “no-limits” boutique.

Now, I’m not blameless. I’ve been known to pinch a pair of fuzzy socks, swipe a sweater or loot some leggings from the closet clearly marked with a little script “A” sign.

It used to be that I couldn’t fit into any of my little sis’ stuff. I’ve always been tall, she’s always been pretty petite. So while she looked cute in a stolen sweater, I looked like I’d either left something in the dryer too long or hit up Gap Kids for a scandalous, NSFW ensemble.

But now that we’re the same size and have similar tastes it’s payback time.

My mom says, “Couldn’t you girls just agree to share? Can’t you come to some sort of understanding?”

We have tried. It was nice while it lasted. But the peace has been broken.

Now, it’s war.

Swipe that stark black eyeliner on your cheeks, file those nails down to a point and make sure those boots have traction. It’s a battle of the bureaus.

We’re entering the Hanger Games.