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Guests

Someone has eaten all my hotdog rolls.

I don’t want to point fingers, but I’m pretty certain it’s my little sister, who came to visit this weekend. I normally quite like visitors. They bring gifts, and make one look popular, and are an excellent excuse for daytime drinking. My little sister is a different matter. ‘I’m just going to my dressing room,’ she announced loudly. I ignored her, accustomed to years of her impenetrable oddness. I wandered into my bedroom to pick up a book. ‘Aaagh!’ I shouted as my hand touched warm human flesh. ‘What on earth are you doing in my dressing room?’ my little sister asked, perplexed. ‘This is my bedroom,’ I told her firmly. ‘And I think those are my tights.’ I had to take a shower, so I left my little sister to finish getting dressed. I marched back into my bedroom. ‘There’s something I need to explain to you,’ I said crossly. ‘The bathroom floor is not part of the shower.’

‘It’s very wet on the floor,’ my little sister said cheerily. ‘I should probably not have kept popping in and out of the shower. It’s just that I forgot things.’ I look at my shower. Body Shop seems to have thrown up inside it.

‘How is it at all possible for one person to need 8 bottles to take a shower?’ I asked, exasperated. ‘Well,’ my little sister replies smugly. ‘Not everyone thinks all you need to shower is shampoo.’ ‘That’s because everyone else are idiots,’ I tell her. ‘Anyway,’ my little sister says, unperturbed, ‘I’ve found a stash of sweets in my dressing room, so I’m just off to eat those.’

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