Three Day Rule

My friend has a theory about staying with family. The first day is golden and everyone is delighted to see you. The second day your family starts treating you like a child. The third day you start acting like one.

At my Sixties party in Ohope Beach: Pietra, Mum, Sharon and me

Forewarned is forearmed and I'm making absolutely sure this doesn't happen during our stay with family in New Zealand. No siree.

Of course after the euphoria of the first day and as the eldest sister I felt it my duty to give them the benefit of my hard-won wisdom. Be selfish not to, really. To Sharon I've kindly and subtly dropped a few parenting tips: "You know, you might want to..." My sister Pietra now knows my views on the correct arch of eyebrow, bronzing creams and blush. Plus best wall colours for their homes, lovely ways to cook fish and how they could help New Zealand get back on track as the surprise superpower in Oceania.

 

First Day: Me, Pietra and Sharon in Auckland

It's been a tiny bit hurtful to witness their reactions; either snorting, rolling their eyes or, even more stunningly, simply ignoring me. Last night Sharon didn't even lower her magazine when I offered her some advice about her career. (She's a business journalist for radio, but I just wonder if she should have followed her passions as a ballerina. Still time.)

Plus they keep sitting too close to me on my side of the couch.

Okay I've had enough: "You bloody stink bums - get outta here!!!  I'm telling Muuuum!"