My Little Sister

My little sister thinks that my only purpose on this god forsaken rock we call our home planet is to do things for her. The latest, unreasonable request is, "Can you fix my boots for me?"
She then opened a disreputable carrier bag and produced a pair of knee-high brown boots that looked as though they hadn't been cleaned since Chairman Mao had them on when he led his people on the Long March.
"They just need cleaning!" I pointed out.
"Will you sort them out for me then?" said she, not listening as usual.
I gave up. "Put them down then, I'll see what I can do."
I did them for her last nighty with Cherry Blossom, took all of five minutes, an idiot in a hurry could have done it as a side-task.
She came back this morning.
"Oooo," says she, stamping her nasty little pasties and pulling the zippers up, "They look brand new."
"That," said I. "Is because they are brand new, try cleaning them in future, it's not difficult."
"You do it better than me," said she and sashayed off.
I watched her go, hoping the dog would bite her but as usual even the dog let me down. I don't know why I keep that dog, it never bites the people I recommend, rat-bag. I don't know which is the biggest waste of oxygen, the dog or my little sister.