Irvin had no sibling, but he wished he did.

His parents had considered it, but decided not to. He was disappointed, and growing up, they disappointment festered.

At age 25, he decided to do something about it.

“Excuse me,” Irvin said to the woman at the café he frequented.


“I’d like a tea, and also would you like to be my sister?”

The woman blushed, and said, “Sorry, I already have a brother. Your tea will be just a minute.”

At the grocery store, he asked the woman at the cash register – at least 15 years his senior – “Would you be my sister?”

“Sorry honey. Cash, debit, or credit?”

Irvin nodded, understanding, and handed his cash.

After several days, and many awkward encounters, he was nearing defeat. At work, he walked over to the neighbouring department, and said, half-heartedly, “Mee? Would you like to be my sister?”

“A brother?! Oh my god!” Mee said, holding her hands in front of her mouth. “I’ve always wanted a brother!”

“Really?” Irving said, surprised.

“Yes! This is amazing! Okay, what’s involved?”

“I dunno…uh, want to come over and play video games and eat pizza?”

“Yes! Tonight?”


“Done! Thanks bro!”

Irvin returned to his desk, excited.



“Oh, hello Button!” Christi smiled brightly.

Aimee frowned. “Huh? Button?”

“Button! That’s you. Obviously, sister.”

“What do you mean, button? Are you calling me a twiddly little thing that will probably fall off a poorly-sewn piece of cloth?”

“No, I’m calling you Button. As in, cute-as-a.” Christi stuck her tongue out, then reached up to pinch Aimee’s cheek.

Aimee threw a hand up to deflect the pinching, dodged her head to the side. “Don’t pinch me!”

“I can’t help it! You’re my little sister, and you’ll always be adorable to me.”

“Well, try to hold back your pinching, at least.”

“Fine, but I’m still going to call you my little Button.”

“Like my little pony?”

“Similar. But with buttons.”

Aimee sighed. “Fine. But no pinching.”


Uncomfortable Salad

Anne sliced into the tomato with the glee of a serial killer making their first ritualistic cut in a fresh victim. Her joy at splitting the red fruit (or, in her sister Sandra’s mind, vegetable) moved beyond Sandra’s border of comfort, and she stepped over to the refrigerator to get the lettuce out.

“Having fun?” Sandra asked, with attempted light-heartedness.

“Oh yes,” Anne said, quartering the tomato.

“What else should we put on it?”

“It’s a salad,” Anne said. “What do you think? Green pepper, salad dressing, cheese, mushrooms, any other interesting vegetables you have. It’s not that hard, Sandra.”

“Of course, of course,” Sandra said.

She pulled out the green pepper and feta cheese from the fridge, setting them on the counter before delving back in for red onion and cucumber. She had no mushrooms, as she hated the texture, and Anne knew this.

“You really shouldn’t keep your onion in the fridge,” Anne said. “It changes the taste.”

“Well, it keeps longer after you cut it.” Sandra replied.

“Maybe you should just plan to use it all at once then,” Anne said.

“Hmph,” Sandra grunted.

There was silence between them as Sandra washed the vegetables and put them in front of Anne to cut. She then took the lettuce and ripped it apart, placing it in a large bowl to mix everything together. She took the tomatoes from beside her sister, and Anne said, “Save the tomatoes for last, they’ll make it soggy!” She was just a second too late though, as the tomatoes slid into the bowl.

“Oh well!” Sandra said too cheerily.

Anne sighed and continued cutting. Sandra crumbled the feta in, and poured some oil and vinegar in a bowl to serve as the dressing. She then helped Anne with the cutting, the two of them working in silence. They both dropped the remainders in, and Sandra stirred the dressing with a fork while Anne retrieved two plates from the cupboard. She set them down, and Sandra served the salad, the two of them grabbing cutlery from the drawer and sitting at the table, eating in silence.