My sister has decided that since I like to write and she doesn't, I am to be her ghost writer. She's asked me to do her Christmas letter next year - in which case she better get a move on. I only write Christmas letters for people who set their kitchens on fire making almond brittle and have children who are convinced that Santa's reindeer are going to eat them alive in their sleep. I need material.
In the interim, I was given the opportunity to write her bio thingy for her upcoming high school reunion. Which I did. Because how hard can summing up... er... 15 or so years be?
I put it off until the very last possible moment, at which point she was essentially lying at my feet begging me to write the infernal thing - or would have been if we lived in the same state. I would have seen to that.
I emailed what I had, and then we IM'd out the details.
her: does there have to be so much about my goldfish?
me: it's not a fish, it's a literary device. It moves the plot along.
her: but an entire paragraph?
me: I LOVED THAT FISH. THE FISH STAYS.
her: okey dokey.
I can't wait for Christmas.