“The ideal position for your date to put his arm around you is your waist. Any higher – kick him in the balls and run, any lower – give him a shot of pepper spray in the eyes.”

I nodded sagely at my sister who was frowning in concentration. “What about around the shoulders?” Good point.

“Well . . . around the shoulders is sort of . . . friendly, right? But you want him to be more than your friend, and the waist is more intimate. Definitely not how you’d touch a friend.”



She bobbed her head up and down solemnly as I imparted a sacred slice of knowledge us females have of the male psyche.

“Aimee, what the hell are you doing?” I blinked innocently at my older brother, Daniel who decided to poke his head around the door, and currently looked as if he were about to eat me. The cannibal.

“Nothing.” See that ring of light around my head? It’s called a halo.

He eyed me suspiciously. “Were you teaching Clare how to pick up guys?”

“Of course not!” I replied indignantly. Honestly, do I look irresponsible to you? “I was just giving her a brief rundown on the fine line between boyfriend and predator.”

A pause. “She’s seven.”

“It’s never too early to learn.” I smiled knowledgably. Daniel just glowered back, obviously not buying into my incredibly logical reasoning.

“Danny? I have to go now. My brother’s waiting in the car outside.” Brooke strolled into the living room and wrapped her arms around ‘Danny’ (I swear, if I ever called him that he’d burn all my Hello Kitty stuffed toys), standing on tiptoes to press her face against his shoulder. And just like that his angry expression melted away, replaced by a smile so tender I would have swooned – if it wasn’t my brother who had been sending me death glares a mere two minutes ago.

If I knew falling in love was enough to transform him from a grouch into Mr. Kind and Caring, I would have set him up eons ago. For the past two and a half weeks Brooke and Daniel have been going out he’s undergone a complete personality change. He’s less moody, doesn’t get angry when I knock over his prized collection of Star Wars figurines whilst playing indoor Frisbee, doesn’t complain when I ask him for money to fund my baked goods addiction, and has even started to wear deodorant (fresh air has never smelt so good). Who needs Extreme Makeover when you have a girlfriend?

Which reminds me. I’m in desperate need of cash (after being fired from work for eating more cakes than I was actually selling). I blame my colleague Jo, for introducing me to the wonderful, addictive world of tiramisu.

I tapped my foot, patiently waiting for them to finish their goodbye kiss (because I’m such a thoughtful, accommodating sister) so I could beg Daniel for ‘spare change’ (translation: if you don’t give me twenty bucks I’ll tell Brooke about the time you farted the alphabet in year six).

Waiting. Waiting. Still waiting. Oxygen anyone?

And that’s when I remembered Clare, who’s not allowed to watch Sesame Street (because my Mum is convinced there’s some serious sexual innuendo between Bert and Ernie), let alone witness her big brother in the midst of a PDA session with her ex-babysitter. That’s Asian parents for you.

So I did what any good sister would do and covered her eyes with one hand and gently ushered her out of the room with the other.

“I saw Pete and Sara doing that behind the gym during naptime,” Clare piped up when we made it to the kitchen. Sometimes I seriously worry about what first graders get up to in between finger painting and story time. What ever happened to cooties?

I was saved from giving her the no-boyfriends-until-the-next-Ice-Age lecture by the sound of the doorbell. “How about you get the cookie dough out of the fridge and we’ll start some serious baking?” I grinned at Clare and she beamed back enthusiastically. Cookie dough itself should be one of the five main food groups; it is that good.

I opened the front door and froze.

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