But if my sister were here, they would be gone. They would be little balls of carnuba wax in her colon.

My sister has always been a bit of a sweet freak. She didn't spaz out when she ate sugar, so she was allowed to do it more often than I was. Eventually I didn't care about this inequity. She would order peanut butter pie for dessert and I would tell the waitress to bring me a dinner roll. I was a weird child. My sister would eat her pie in tiny increments, savoring it as slowly as possible with an orgasmic look on her mug. She has been like this for as long as I have known her.

I came to be sometime in the spring of 76. My parents were watching television one night, about a year into BunnySis's life. They were watching the movie, "David and Goliath" which was mercifully horrible. In the grand tradition that is my fucked up life, I was conceived on the floor of our first living room "accidentally." There is no other way I could have come into existence, but one that requires fate, timing and danger.

[Aside: My mother knows this story embarrasses me, and was telling it at a barbeque last summer. I said, "Mom, stop talking about sex, PLEASE!" To this, she answered, "Well I suppose I could write about it on the Internet instead, huh?" She can be very witty sometimes].

The following summer, after my parents found out I was coming, they decided to take a trip to Cape Cod. I was only a clump of naughty cells in my mommy's belly so I don't remember this first hand. But this story is part of Tyler family lore.

My one-year-old sister was in the back seat of my parent's little Mustang. It was morning. They stopped at a gas station for some gas, a couple cups of coffee and a dozen doughnuts. They ate a doughnut apiece and then gave BunnySis, a chunky towhead with a duck face and blonde curls, her own doughnut. She ate it right up. She was a good eater for a baby. The box with the nine remaining doughnuts was placed on the seat beside my sister.

They drove through the morning, sipping coffee and discussing the "accident" that was on it's way. A couple hours down the road, they heard a rustling sound in the back seat. My mother turned around and screamed. My father freaked and pulled the car over, "What!? What's wrong!"

He turned to see my sister covered in powdered sugar as if she had been dipped in egg wash and then battered for the deep fryer. She had powdered sugar all over the back seat and bits of doughnut were dropped into the folds of her little pants. The box with the nine remaining doughnuts sat beside her, open. My mother looked inside. It was empty.

My sister had silently devoured nine doughnuts. Only the rustle that made my mother turn betrayed her skill, and even then, it was a post meal rustle. She had gotten lazy toward the end.

Honestly, my sister, a one-year-old baby, had eaten ten doughnuts total. She never even had gas or diarrhea afterward, just quietly cooed with a satisfied look on her crusty face. She fell in and out of sugar-coma naps. My parents were certainly disturbed, but comforted by the probability of their next child being more normal. "At least this next one can't get any weirder." Oh Christ. Those poor people.

Announcement: BunnySis is moving to Chicago. I repeat. BunnySis is MOVING to Chicago this summer, people! I'll be taking applications for canoodling. You must pass my requirements, which unfortunately, are much higher than the ones I use to find my own dates.

Let the adventures begin.