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So I’m sitting in the living room with my mom and my sister walks in…

[Sister] Hey, your boobs look fake. 

[Me] Duh, that’s cause they are. You can tell? 

[Sister] No sh*t, when did you get them done? [Sis to mom] That’s why that little b*tch’s boobs always look so perky! 

At this point my mom, knowing I don’t have fake boobies jumps in on the fun:

[Mom to Sis] She got them done in Australia – didn’t you know?

[Sister] No! How much? Let me see the surgical scars…

[Me] 1000 a piece – they do them cheap over there.  Dirty knives or something… No way am I just gonna flip them out.  You gotta buy me dinner first!

[Sister] COME ON. Look me in the eye and tell me they’re implants.  I know you can’t lie like that.

My best acting ever, I smile and look her in the eye (I’m already smiling so she can’t use it against me!) 

[Me] Just cause they were cheap doesn’t mean they can’t be real looking too… I’d let you feel, but you’re not my type.

Here my sister drops it, but later must’ve still been thinking about it ’cause she said out of no where… “You can’t keep this lie up! You are too much of a health freak to do that!”

HAHAHAHA! I’m still laughing on the inside. It’s killing her… I’m such an awesome sister with fabulous perky boobs!

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This week, on a whim, I asked my sister to straighten my hair.  Deliberately.  Which, in hindsight, was a dreadful mistake.  My sister and I are not the kind of sisters that go out for cuppas or shop together, nay… my sister is much like those sisters in faerie tales, the kinds that smother you with pillows and then take your best shoes out to the ball.  Yes, sadly, it’s true!  *coughs*

Anyway, so naively I sit in the chair, which forever-henceforth will be known as her “chair of torture” and begin my experience with pain I can never describe as pleasure.  Within a few moments of being under her hand and hot iron, I was yelling:

“If you were my real hairdresser I wouldn’t leave you a tip!”

To which she’d yank my hair and reply:

“If you were in my hairdressing chair I would’ve kicked your skinny a[zz] out already”

My best come back ever:

“MOM – she’s abusing me! Me your favourite child!”

Sister’s best retort:

“Stop being a little b*tch, beauty is pain!”

It went on and on like this til all my curls were ironed out.  2 hours later I was released from her evilness.  Told my sister not to give up her day job because her calling was more in the lines of pre-christian executioner then salonista!

I wore my hair straight for the rest of the week.  It was the least I could do for my head after putting it through that.  The down side of having straight hair (even for just a week) is that I actually have to BRUSH it! I never have to brush my hair when it’s curly – cept in the shower when I’m washing it – otherwise it’s just up and go…

Bad side to having to brush one’s hair all the time is that I don’t even own a brush! I have a comb…. it worked, but I’m sure a brush would’ve been better.  Oh well, I guess live (since I survived) and learn!