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.

(I said).

"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.

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