BEATING MY SISTER WITH A PLATE

Before I get back to my tale of Montreal, I do have this quick story to share.  I know my sister has  been dominating the blog lately.  She's been putting up with me off and on all summer, and she is a trooper.  However, I do think that my recent visit might give her a chance to reconsider her generosity of time.

You see, it's like this:  I had to beat my sister up this weekend.

Come on, admit it.  You have a sibling you've secretly wanted to throttle once or twice, too.  I mean, really.  Sometimes the pressure is too much and , well, we snap.  I am telling you, this isn't my fault.  She made me hurt her, officer, truly she did.

Okay, let me explain.

My sister finally gets the house to herself for the weekend.  Her youngest is away, her husband has gone camping, and she is "stuck" at home between work on Friday and a singing gig on Sunday.  What a shame, she will have to stay and mind the doggie and have an entire weekend of quiet.  So, what does she do?

First, though, what would a normal person do?  A normal person would pull the shades, lock the windows and doors, unplug the phone, shut off the lights, and hide out in the peaceful heaven that is an empty home.

My sister is not normal. 

Nope, instead she invites me up.  She asks me to stay over night, but I'm not having any of that.  She may not think she deserves some quiet down-time, but I believe she does, so I agree to one day.  Saturday.

I get up there early, and we have the entire day to ourselves.  Kayak?  Hike?  Swim?  Beach?  Shopping?  Play games?  What shall we do?  My arse has been dragging with some weird viral-bacterial-extraterrestrial thingee (I half-expect Signourey Weaver's "alien" to come flying out of my lungs), so I say, "I'll do anything except a long hike or an uphill hike."

We play some games (she wins, just like always) then try unsuccessfully to get tickets to the Portland Sea Dogs game (it's Field Of Dreams night, so tickets are completely sold-out, even standing room only by the toilets).  The pool is a little too chilly, so we decide on a hike through the woods to the ocean at a nearby farm.

Bug spray comes with us in the backpack, but we decide that the air is breezy and why would any bugs want us?  Besides, it's a short walk, less than a mile.  Halfway down the path, we are both sporting welts and blood trails from being eaten nearly alive, so we admit failure and break out the bug spray.  Once at the beach, the sand is damp enough for us to multi-fold our towels as seats.  We have our bathing suits on under our clothes in case we decide to go in and get wet, but the air is nice enough that just getting our legs wet is enough.  Besides, the dampness leaks through the towels and gives us wet bums, anyway.

By the time we get back to the house, we've had enough outdoor time and play a few more heated rounds of Quiddler, Bananagrams, and Cribbage, at which my sister totally kills me.  She wrecks me.  I swear I do not win one single game.  So entrenched are we in our battles that we do not even consider going out to get dinner.  We raid the cupboards, steal some of her kids' Annie's White Cheddar Macaroni, add some broccoli, and continue trying to whip each other senseless at games while we plow through our food.

Finally, we clean up after dinner, turn on the dishwasher, and retreat to the living room to play Yahtzee.  To prevent the dice from flying around the coffee table, we decide to use a pile of three paper plates.  The plates work fine as a buffer, but the two of us are having the worst games of our lives.  I mean, she beats me soundly with only 200 points over and over, but we are both rolling badly.

Maybe it's not the plates.  We change to the lid of the Yahtzee score card box.  Ahhhh.  Finally.  I throw a Yahtzee, even.  It's amazing!  Our scores almost reach 300!  Still, though, still she is winning.  Winning, winning, WINNING!!!!

When it is my sister's turn to throw, I pick up one of the plates from the stack and start whacking her with it.
She grabs it from me and starts whacking me back with it.  I maneuver deftly to my right and grab the other two plates, separating them with Ninja-like fluency.  HA!  I have two plates to her one!  I start flailing madly.

Oh no.  I have forgotten that my sister is much taller than I, meaning her wing span is greater.  She overreaches my assault and attacks me anew.  Curses!  I never win!  I NEVER WIN!

This scene continues until we are certain that the dog is going to come over and bite both of us for our misbehavior.  Yup, this probably means it's time for me to go home.  Any time our fun and games ends in fistacuffs, we should probably pack it in.

Well, sister, you may have beaten me at Quiddler and Bananagrams and Cribbage and Yahtzee (over and over and over...). but you had better hear this:  NEXT TIME, I'M BRINGING THE DAMN PAPER PLATES!  You've been forewarned.