Most important is the attribution of her demonhood. It's that aspect that makes me most miserable and therefore reduces her value as a desirable family member.

My sister is a snob about insignificant truths, like having been born in our mother's home country, Jamaica. It's like she's constantly shoving that gold and green flag in everyone's face. We get it. You have a green card.

She conveniently ignores that she was a baby when she and Mom left for the United States, so she has no recollection of her time in the Caribbean. And her accent is grating and fake, an attempt toward something of which she desperately wishes she was a part. But I digress. She's made far worse choices than clinging to an identity that isn't her own.

In honor of my sister, who is clearly more Jamaican than myself and therefore a better person by default, I present a reggae song that must have been written just for her.

In case you're not fluent in Jamaican Patois (and I'm sure you're not), this sex-shaming song is about a girl named Maxine who the singers find extremely attractive. However, they won't sleep with her because she is a whore, a fact supposedly bolstered by how many abortions she's had. Welcome to Jamaican music, people.

I first heard this song in Mom's car when I was perhaps eight or nine. Why Mom never stopped me from pointing this song out to my sister every time we were together is beyond me.

My sister is a prude, to be sure. I only know she's had sex because she has three kids, and she's made it clear that she believes there's a right and wrong way to have sexual relations. Meaning, it's only okay if you fuck HER way, the "normal" way.

My sister is a demon AND an idiot.

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