Par Avion

My sister arrived last Wednesday, flying in from the wilds of Detroit to revel in the pastoral goodness of New York. I'm in the red since she's been here -- Boo. I've met so many cool people since her arrival (Kevin, Keena, Darren, Remy <-- I spell as best I can, all of you) -- Yeah.

I love her a bunch, and she has been quite thoughtful about helping me since she's been here -- I can stay at work as long as I need to, because she takes Lou for his meander (I've stopped calling it a walk, because that is just not accurate). She swept up piles of dog hair last week, and it's generally nice to have someone around to make witty quips at whatever pap is on the telly.

The only downside?



That's what my sister used to do, and so did her friends. Beautiful and lithe, all. Me? Not so much. So, not only do I have to go to work and hear people who met her say, "Wow. That's your sister? She must be much younger than you. I can tell she was a dancer, she has such a beautiful body." Read: "And you are a fatty, fatty, boom-ba-latty." Whatever. It's nice to have her here, because we compliment each other well. She? Drinking the rice milk, eating organically, loving fresh fruit for breakfast, and SMART to boot. Me? Marginally intelligent (note that there are relatively few spelling errors in these postings, thank you), drinking whole milk by the gallon, eating cheese exclusively, and planning to throw out all the wholesome crapola she's filled my fridge with when she leaves! Har. Boo. Sad.

Is it wrong to hold out for a pill that will melt the fat away and make me scintillating and brilliant at the same time? I say, "No! Get on it, Pfizer! Jeez!" In the meantime, I'll have the gruyere soup, cheddar casserole with swiss cheese sauce, a side of bleu cheese, and CHEESECAKE for dessert, please. So bad.