My Sister Loves Me

My dear sister, Virginia, loves me. She has—ever since my mom brought me home from the hospital. Throughout our younger years, Virginia led me in the right way—according to her  plans for me. Maybe it’s because she could boss me and I just thought she was so pretty and smart that I would do anything for her. And maybe that’s why she chose to play with me instead of her friends. In fact, her friends (all 5 years older than me) came to despise me at times for the tagalong that I was.

Virginia has always chosen to overlook my flaws and only sees my good qualities. As we grew older, I realized my sister would always have my back.

When I began selling industrial chemicals in the early ‘80s, Virginia was excited to let me practice my sales spiel and newly gained knowledge of highly concentrated cleaners in her beautiful home. I started in her kitchen to show her how the heavy duty stainless steel polish could make her avocado refrigerator shine. I knew my sales pitch and happily spouted it off as I rubbed a huge circle of avocado green paint off the door. We both gasped. I remembered too late this was the chemical to clean road oxidation off tanker trucks.

“Well,” I said, “let’s move onto something else.”

Without missing a beat, she led me to the carpeting on the stairway and presented me with a quarter-size spot of milk that had refused to come up.

I went to my black box of samples and pulled out a small bottle with a dabber on the end. I had seen this spot remover used in my sales training class and knew this would do the trick. So I sat down on the steps and moved the little bottle back and forth on the spot while pressing it upside down. And wouldn’t you know, that stubborn stain disappeared—along with a pancake size of gold coloring from her carpet.

“Oops,” I said. “What other little problem can I help you with today?”

Again, Virginia held out hope for at least one miracle from that black box of mine, and she knew if anyone could pull it off, I could. “Do you have a deodorizer?” she asked.

“Well, yes, I do—a great floral one.”

When my brother-in-law walked in the front door after work and saw us carrying the overly aromatic carpet out to the backyard, Virginia smiled sweetly at him and said, “Don’t even ask.”

See—I told you she loves me.