The Last Straw

My baby sister came to dinner the other night, and was annoyed that I hadn't told you all about her recent silly fiasco. So now she can shush, cos here it is;

We had decided to go to the nearest city on a quiet Sunday evening for a bit of a boogie and for sis to consume her weight in vodka. A normal night (lol). Quite nice that it was just the two of us for a change, since I've moved out, we don't see each other too much in that kind of easy, social setting. It still amazes me how well we know each others little quirks, still finishing one another's sentences!

So we're in the first bar, two drinks in and it's karaoke night. Which I lurrrve. And she DESPISES. I like singing. She shrivels up and cringes with humiliation if I do it when she is in the vicinity. Not that she's ashamed of me or anything......

I've been told: absolutely no singing. So I just loudly sing along with whoever is on, while we rate or slate the poor victims. We also rate or slate (mostly slate) her recent men (if you can call them that).

Our drinks are on the table in front of us, mine a tap water, for the cheapskate teetotaler, hers a double vodka and lemonade with a black straw. She talks animatedly with her hands about something funny, although I can't remember what it was. Her barbie-doll long brunette, straightened hair swishes as she flicks it around with her talking hands. As she does, her hand brushes against something alien.

Confused, she looks up to where the object appears to have fallen from the sky, I follow her gaze. No, not from there. Her fingers brush through her hair, and I spot it, a length of black plastic camouflaged in her dark tresses. Grasping it in her fingers, she pulls out a straw. From her drink. It had oddly become entangled in her hair! The absurdity of the situation made us both giggle uncontrollably, fancy pulling a straw out of the depths of your thick hair! That will teach her talking hands.

Grown.