It has been brought to my attention (by my sister) that I have spent too much time blogging about Ellie, and not enough time blogging about HER. I told her that if she was as cute and interesting as Ellie is, she’d probably have more blog posts written about her, but not only did she not accept that explanation, she found it kind of “offensive”. However, she also rejected my suggestion that she fall off the end of a treadmill so I’d have something to write about, so here we are. With a New Post window open, a special blogging request, and not much to say. I mean, I love my sister, but she hasn’t really done anything outrageous enough to inspire a full post about her, and I’m pretty sure if I made stuff up she’d swoop in immediately to correct me. However, I am nothing if not accommodating to my adoring public, so here are 3 Lesley Fun Facts for her appeasement and your enjoyment:

1) She graduated from culinary school not that long ago, and has worked for the past several years in the swanky kitchen of a very fancy establishment, the name of which I am not free to mention due to their policy of keeping these sorts of things on the down-low. She once made a pizza for a celebrity. Now, I know what you’re thinking: how do I know just how excited to feel as I’m reading this anecdote, when you can’t give me any of the relevant details? I will tell you this: he was MORE famous than James Spader and LESS famous than Johnny Depp. I will also tell you this: since very few of us are in the business of making celebrity-eaten pizzas, I think we should all strive to summon a rather LARGE amount of enthusiasm for this anecdote and for my baby sister. Can you even imagine? A celebrity asked her to make him a pizza, which she did, and then he ate it. Okay, again, I get that this is not a very good story. Trust me when I say it is a much bigger deal if you know who the celebrity is.

2) If you ask her to dog-sit for you, she will do a bang up job, but in exchange for the favour she will send you regular text messages that say things like: “Your dog seems to be trying to escape the back yard via a tunnel she’s digging under the fence. I assume I should let her go ahead with that?” and “Your dog seemed hungry so I made her a sandwich. I assume that’s okay?”

3) When I was in my last year of university (so Lesley would have been in grade 11 and our older brother Darren — who may not spring immediately to mind, due to the fact that he is too busy with science to be clamouring for personalized blog posts — would have been working on his doctorate, if I have my timeline correct here) our parents took us all to Hawaii over Christmas. It was so, so great, with the exception of the fact that the three of us had to share the back seat of a car for the first time in at least a decade. Darren and I always invoked the You’re The Smallest So You Have To Sit In The Middle Protocol, the constraints of which Lesley accepted with grudging respect for the rules governing fair use of car back seats, although some minor grousing usually occurred whenever one of us breathed too loudly or allowed our knees to wander too far into her territory. At one point while we were out exploring the island paradise, Darren — possibly suffering the ill effects of vacation-induced relaxation — apparently got too comfortable and spread his limbs too far, at which point Lesley launched into an irritated, accusatory tirade complete with emphatic gestures and index-finger illustrations on the upholstery, the gist of which I am transcribing here for your enjoyment: “Do you see this? This is MY allotment of space in the car. That over there is YOUR allotment of space. Your KNEE is on my SIDE. YOU ARE INFRINGING UPON MY ALLOTMENT OF SPACE.” (My mother, from the front seat: “OH MY GOSH. Our children are such EGGHEADS.”)