I have a little sister. You might of heard of her before around here. How we pined after cookies that were out of our small-child reach. How we dealt calmly with the cockroach incident. I call her little. But it’s becoming a far stretch to do so. You see, she’s ever so slender but really not so little – a graceful gazelle that stands taller than moi, the aardvark. Pure habit I guess. Or a way of convincing myself that because she is little I shall always know best. What a strong inference. Perhaps I just call her ‘little sister’ out of fondness. I mean she’s sexy as all get out, but if I went around talking about my ‘sexy sister’ people would shoot me strange looks and subtly scuttle away sideways, until they could turn around and run, run, run awaaaaaay. Continue reading
