Happy Friday one and all!
Today, I’d like to introduce my sister Fluffy. I’ve explained before why my 28 year old adult sister is named after a dog (a cute, frivolous, fluffy dog) but what you probably don’t know about her is that she has a lot of other names as well:
Sharky, on account of the fact that she used to have three rows of teeth (not all the way across – that would be weird, but they were, *ahem*, a little bit crowded)
Catty, on account of her sometimes cat-like aloof nature (and not because she uses a litter box. Which she doesn’t. Obviously).
The Evil Weevil. Because, I don’t know, sometimes we like to think of the most ridiculous things to call each other. Which is why she sometimes calls me Snowball the Pony. (Neigh!)
Scritchy Bug on account of the fact that she is cute like a little bug and also prone to little scritchy, screechy outbursts. But then, aren’t we all?
Fluffy (Sharky Catty Evil Weevil Scritchy Bug) once entertained the idea of being an archaeologist. She actually studied archaeology at Uni. But half way through a 6,000 word essay on the domestication of wheat she decided it was probably not for her. So, she did what all failed archaeologists do, and became a fashion designer. Turns out she’s a much better fashion designer than she is an essay writer. In fact, she is a BRILLIANT fashion designer, if the fashion-extravaganza that was my wedding, is anything to go by.
Fluffy lives in London now, and works as a fashion designer (for one of the UK’s most iconic, eccentric fashion identities). She also blogs about the adventures of a nun and a crocodile, which is ever bit as weird as it sounds, but somehow it works. You should totally follow her blog.
Fluffy is brilliant at fashion designing, and drawing, and making me laugh. She also plays quite a good version of Fats Waller’s I Can’t Give You Anything But Love on the piano, has no way of turning off her ‘distaste face’ if something (or someone) bothers her, and she is incredibly kind and generous and hilariously funny. But she is not so great at hugging. I guess you can’t be good at everything. Fluffy was never able to grasp the concept of how to hold a pen. I like her handwriting though. It looks like elderly spiders dancing on the page.
Also, she has a freckle in the corner of her eye. People often say to her: ‘You have something in the corner of your eye!’ And then she has to explain, “It’s a freckle!” Not dirt, or Milo, or a grain of instant coffee. I mean, CLEARLY it’s a freckle. What are you people, vision impaired?
I’ve always thought Fluffy was smarter than me and is about a trillion per cent more photogenic. But that’s ok. I’ve never minded being the funny-looking, silly one, who’s never mastered the art of having a good photo-face. Fluffy is especially good at pouting in photos (not demonstrated here).
She tried to show me how to pout once, but all the pictures just came out looking like I was either a moronic simpleton or about to throw up.
Neither of which are a very good look.