TMI Thursday: in which I embarrass my sister

I would really hate it if my sister felt a little left out because I sang the praises of her husband in yesterday's post.

I mean, I would seriously feel really bad about that.

And, since she seemed to so enjoy my TMI Thursday last week, I thought, what better way to reward her interest in her older sister than by featuring her in this week's edition?

This one's for you, sis.

To know my sister is to know a walking contradiction. As a child, she was loud. I mean, we are talking about a voice that carried and projected in a way that would make a stage actor jealous. This voice, coupled with a serious lack of tact, meant that we knew better than to tell her anything secret, for fear that she would leak the information, and loudly, at the most inopportune of times. However, she could also be extremely and completely quiet; as a toddler, she once stayed silently hidden behind my grandmother's couch for I don't know how long, while the whole family searched high and low for her.

As a kid, she was a tomboy, particpating in every sport and sweating boy-amounts while riding bikes around the neighborhood and fearlessly climbing trees. During our first year at week-long summer camp, she didn't change her clothes once. When we arrived home on Friday afternoon, my mother opened her suitcase to find piles of t-shirts and shorts still folded, untouched. Looking back, I sort of blame myself for being too preoccupied with boys to have noticed my sister's lack of wardrobe changes. However, somewhere around the time she got her driver's license, this all changed. Today, she has fashion sense, owns (and uses) a hair straightener, could teach me a few make-up tricks, and always smells nice.

Ahh. My sibling.

The Highchair Incident
We were young; she was young enough to sit in the cheap metal high chair at the restaurant - maybe it was a Jerry's, or a Po'folks or something. I don't remember. My grandfather was there, and apparently started having chest pains (again) around this time.

Here's why.

Apparently, my brillant little sister chose to sit on her knees in the high chair, and apparently her little legs began to inch further back until they went through the opening - you know, that little empty space between where you rest your back and your bum. So, there she was, literally hanging out of the back of the high chair, stuck, as the space was big enough for most of her body to fit through, but, not (thankfully) her entire noggin'. She was making a face (that she does a great impression of today!) which said, "Help me! I'm choking!"

Now, this wouldn't have been such an ordeal, except that we soon found that she was, in fact, wedged in this spot, like a boy with his head through the banister of some stairs. Tug as they might, no one could pull her out of this death-trappy hunk of metal. (It wasn't wooden, like the one in the picture. It probably did have a little safety strap, though - which clearly should have been put to use, in hindsight.)

So, we were quite the commotion for the crowd in the restaurant. Waitresses gathered around. I started crying, fearing the worst. One nice waitress picked me up and gave me a sucker. That was better. My mom held her up a little so that she wouldn't just be dangling, and so she could breathe. Finally, a manager came out with a screwdriver, and took the chair apart. My baby sister was free. at. last.

The Rubberband Incident

Once happy night, we were all laying in bed: my mom, my sister, and me. We were just relaxing in our pajamas, watching a little before-bedtime t.v.

Out of the blue, my sister announces, matter-of-factly, "I stuck a rubber band up my nose."

My mom replies, "What do you mean, you stuck a rubber band up your nose?"

Lights were flipped on, flashlights were procured and shined up into her nostrils, but it was to no avail. There was nothing up there. I'm sure there was some back and forth conversation about whether or not she had acutally stuck a rubber band up her nose.

But, to be on the safe side, we were emergency room bound. My sister was prodded with little instruments and I, once again, cried my curly-haired head off while I feared for my sister. However, the doctor's were befuddled and found nothing. I don't remember, exactly, whether or not x-rays were involved, but we were sent home, and probably tossed and turned a little in our sleep.

Maybe it was the next day or perhaps it was a couple of days later, when my sister used the potty, and a little, tiny, barbie-hair-holder type of rubber band came out with her poop.

Ohhh, and once she kicked our baby-sitter.

I love you, sis!

Don't forget to check out the mothership that is Lilu's blog, as her TMI Thursday post-secret edition is the highlight of my day-before-Friday!