Voicemail from my sister: I am calling because I want you to put a picture of me on your blog. Not mom's dog. Not my child. But me. And write something about me while you're at it.

...

Me: What do you want me to write about?

Six stories later.

Me: Yeah, that one's pretty good. How does it go again?

Sister: It was when I was a manager at the Gap. I told this large man to go try on the jeans we gave him. I went in the dressing room, and I said, "Have you tried them on yet?" And he said, "No." And then he said, "Let's go," and he picked me up. He threw me over his shoulder. And I said, "You put me down right now, and go try on those jeans." And then I called security.

Me: So was your hair touching the floor when he threw you over his shoulder?

Sister: No, but feel free to embellish.

Me: How large was he?

Sister: Very large. He was a very large man.