I was eleven years old. My parents were out of town for the weekend and my health and well-being were placed in the hands of my 13 year-old sister. This is akin to placing a drunk guy in a china shop, handing him a baseball bat and telling him not to break anything.
It was eleven o'clock at night. I was seated on the porcelain throne naked, almost ready to curl up into a sleeping ball of childish innocence--when the door flew open! I looked up. In front of me was a massive male personage with brilliant pink hair and a beer in one hand. He gave me a dazed look, and backed away.
"Nicole!!! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
As it turns out, the boy holding the beer happened to be my sister's 21 year-old boyfriend. The beer turned out to be one pilfered from my parents' supply.
When I had more clothing and presence of mind, I ran downstairs to have a word with my "guardian."
I found my assailant in the basement pissing in one of my dad's old shoes, while my sister pleaded with me to hush the sordid business up.
I went back to sleep. And, for the record, I was not a stool pidgeon.
She still owes me a favour.