Sisters Make the World Go Round

This is my sister, Ginny.

She’s 14-months younger than me, so we’ve always been close.   Well, except when she shows up looking like this two days before I give birth.

When she shows up all tanned and thin and shiny like this, I put toe lint in her hair when she’s not looking.   But most of the time, she’s alright.

Ginny recently moved from Atlanta to a teeny, tiny town in Virginia to live with her fiance, John Michael, who is building a hospital in this teeny, tiny town in Virginia.   I think she’s incredibly brave.   And, until recently, I thought she was incredibly smart, too.   But then she called me a few days ago and now I question her mental capacity.   Allow me to explain…

Ginny and John Michael just got a golden retriever puppy named Sugar.

And, apparently, poor little Sugar has worms.   Lot of ’em.   This stinks for Ginny because worms have to come out – if you know what I mean.   And when your wormified puppy isn’t quite housetrained yet…well…you get the idea.

So, the other day I get a voicemail message from Ginny and its marked “Urgent.”   The fact that its marked “Urgent” doesn’t really mean anything.   Ginny marks all of her messages as “Urgent.”   One time I got a message marked “Urgent” and it was Ginny singing Cheeseburger in Paradise while evidently enjoying a few margaritas.   I don’t know if Ginny understands what the word “Urgent” means.

But when I listened to her message this time, she did sound frantic and I thought that maybe this really was urgent.   She said for me to call her back as soon as possible because she was really worried about Beanie.   So, I immediately call her back.   And she’s frantic.   She’s so frantic she’s panting.   And her voice is about 4 octives higher than normal.

“What’s wrong, Gin?” I ask.

“Well, Sugar has worms,” she explains.   And then she goes into this incredibly graphic explanation of the worms which I will not burden you by writing here.   But just know it was graphic.   Really, really graphic.   Horrifically graphic.

“Well, Sugar’s a dog and sometimes they get worms.   Just hang in there,” I tell her, still uncertain what this has to do with the Bean.

“That’s why I called you.   You need to make sure to get Beanie on de-wormer as soon as possible!”   she screeched.

“Uh, Gin,” I say.   “Babies don’t get worms.”

“They don’t?” she asks.

“No.   They don’t.”

“Oh, well, I wasn’t sure.   I don’t know that much about babies and I just wanted to make sure Beanie was okay,” she says, sounding incredibly relieved.

“Beanie’s fine,” I assure her, trying not to laugh.   “No worms here.”

Oh, Ginny.     Your thought process never ceases to amaze me.