Too Much Perfection?

I love my sister. We are separated by 18 years in age, but though she's older than me, I still consider us to be close. However, we are like night and day. She likes to shop. I don't. She likes pink. I don't. She loves shoes. I don't. You can see where I'm going, so I'll stop there.

On our third day at the beach, we decided to hook up the jet skiis and drive down to the boat landing by the bridge and go for a ride on them. It was a beautiful day today for it. We, surprisingly, had no problems whatsoever in getting the jet skiis in the water. But when it came time to get on the jet ski, my sister looked at me with doe eyes and questioned, "Do I have to step in the water?"

"Yes, Princess, you have to step into the water to get on the jet ski."

With no measure of grace, Her Majesty managed to slosh through the murky water at the boat ramp and climb aboard.

And we were off.

It was a very pleasant ride. The waves were rougher than I prefer, but still not uncomfortable. Once we settled on a direction of travel, we pointed the pair of jet skiis toward the state park and proceeded at a good clip in that direction.

After about an hour or so of riding we slowed to a stop. Our engines were at a quiet idle as I heard Her Majesty's squeal. "It's tipping. It's tipping!" I turned my head just in time to see her DH casually step off the side of the ski and disappear briefly into the water. My sister, though, fought the inevitable all the way down. As soon as her feet hit the water she was scrambling like a cat that had just been unceremoniously dumped into a bucket of very cold water.

The Princess was clawing, scratching, and screaming. "Get me out of this water." Not Get me out of the water, it was this water. Bless her heart, she was scrambling madly for the side of the jetski and her poor DH was madly trying to give her a boost upward toward its deck, but in her panicked state, nothing was getting accomplished except for more screaming: "Get me out of this water! Get me out of this water! Finally she found purchase at the back of the jetski and was halfway on board when suddenly her frantic plea changed its focus.

This is what we then heard:
"My pretty shoe! Get my pretty shoe! Get my pretty shoe!!!"

My dear sister, still clinging to the back of the deck, scrambling in terror of this water, hyperventilating and screeching like a wounded seagull, was suddenly terrified of losing the one thing that is truly important in her life - her pretty shoe.

To the great relief of everyone present, I was able to locate and rescue the pretty shoe from the watery grave.

I'm a hero.

The Princess made it home with her pretty shoes, safe and sound.