I’ve written about my elder sister more than a couple of times here. When she found out about my blog last week, she asked me to call
her Serena, rather than SH, whenever I mention her. Mathew and Serena? (Shrug)
Personally, I preferred SH. You know, it’s kind of like I’m shushing her when I
talk about her, and that was kind of nice. But well, with progress must come change... sigh.
That done, I guess it’s about
time I introduce the brat… ahem, I mean, the other sister. The kid.
For the sake of easy reading, I’m
going to call her Zoola. It’s a variation of the nickname Serena came up with
way back in the day, and it’s one that would drive her (Zoola) up the wall when
she finally gets around to reading this (if ever).
She’s 14, and though she isn’t
showing all that much interest in writing, unlike Serena and I, she does have other artistic talents that I don’t. Maybe it’s just
that she hasn’t found her voice yet.
Zoola can be sweet when she
wants something from you, and a mule when she doesn’t. Your basic kid sister. She’s
the youngest, but our parents never let her get spoiled. Close one, that. Growing up with a younger
sister isn’t easy. At least with a brother, you can do this...
... every now and again when authority needs to be established. Not so with sisters. It is so much more complicated with sisters.
The reason for this post,
though, is ( obviously) what happened a few weeks ago.
