My littlest sister always makes me howl with laughter. Any conversation is peppered with “don’t lick that” “why are you standing in my washing basket?” “where’s my cheese?” and “I’m on the phone” as she attempts to keep her six kids – yes, six kids and one on the way – in order. It’s a good job I only have the one.
I spoke to her twice yesterday and we discussed, in no particular order, spending £8 on her phone bill, my daughter’s (finally finished) bedroom, fake pregnancies, revenge porn, tummy tucks – “cut me up like a chocolate orange, take a segment out, and sew me up again” – the pros and cons of crochet over knitting, delivery drivers, cake, solar lights, cord dungarees, red dye that comes out pink, and whether a two year old can eat a full tube of Pringles.
I can honestly say I never, ever laugh as much as I do when we’re chatting or iMessaging – she sends the most random things and always at the best times. Coming out of therapy last week I must have looked like an absolute nutter walking out the hospital trying to control a giggle and ending up with a muffled snort as I read the messages she had sent me:
I love my littlest sister lots, she can always make me smile. Even when things are tough – for either of us – there is humour. And cake. Always cake. Now, I have a knitting pattern to pop in the post to her – it came to me by courier today, she was expecting a digital copy, don’t ask – so I’d best stroll down to the post box. That’s about as random as she is 💜