"Hello, I'm an idiot" and other stories

Despite the promise of a new Improv post this weekend, I have been MIA. Sorry. But my sister is here for a week and she's keeping me busy.

Okay, that's a blatant lie. I actually think she's a little bored (though she won't admit it) because I've been forcing her to watch many hours of Wimbledon (hello, horrendously long Andy Murray-Richard Gasquet match) and the Olympic swimming trials (Dear Aaron Piersol, Are you married? If not, hi. Love, Hannah).

We have also done a lot of eating.

But it has been fun, and also helpful. Helpful, you ask? How has it been helpful? Well, I shall tell you.

But first, a story. As I'm sure you all know, first-born children are, naturally, the smartest. I don't mean book-smarts and IQ, but in wisdom and life experience. Younger children are blessed (blessed, I tell you) with being able to benefit from the knowledge and path-blazing of their older siblings who were fated to be the first out of the familial nest, so to speak. My sister and I are no different, and there have been only a handful of times in our lives that my wisdom has failed me, allowing her to (temporarily) appear smarter. [Ed. Note: I say this in jest. I hope that's obvious. But if not...well. In jest.] One of those was last year. She and our parents were picking me up from the train or something, and I was hobbling along with my blue roll-y carry-on suitcase which has a short handle, requiring me to lean over slightly when I pull it. And, without so much as a hello, the conversation commenced:

G: Why don't you pull the handle out all the way?
Me: [with disdain] Um, because this is as far as it goes? I've used this suitcase for years, and this is as far as it goes..
G: No, it comes out further.
Me: No, I have hauled this suitcase all over the country, I think I would've figured it out by now.
G: [reaches over and pulls the handle out six more inches; gives me the "So there!" look]
Me: Huh.

So I'll get back to the Helpful story. First, you need to know that the Cold handle in my shower has been stuck since I moved in. For nine months, I have taken relatively hot (read: usually scalding) showers because I'm too lazy to call the super. I have created my own special version of the military shower. Anyway, on Saturday morning we had this conversation:

Me: I'm getting in the shower.
G: Ok, but how do you get the temperature right? It's always really cold.
Me: ...what? Cold?
G: Yeah, every time I stay here I end up having a lukewarm shower.
Me: I have spent NINE MONTHS being burned by the water, and you're telling me that you've been taking COLD SHOWERS?
G: [has not had her coffee yet and isn't sure why I'm raising my voice at this early hour] ...yes?
Me: Please show me how you have done this.
G: [walks into bathroom; turns the Cold handle on...by turning it down rather than up (like the Hot handle]
Me: [dumbfounded]
G: [cracks up] That's a blog post!

See? Helpful. I can now bathe myself without having to do a jig in the shower. I know you're all so proud.

So anyway, that's what I've been doing: eating, and watching lots of sports, and getting schooled by my sister. Next up, St. Louis! I'm sure I will return with many stories, and I'll try to get back to the Improv-ing soon.