Sheila smiled at me. "I just want you to know, Peter..." she said, in her kissy-face voice, "that even if we are related, I'll always hate you."
"That's a relief," I said. "Because I'll always hate you, too."
"Promise?" she asked.
"Promise," I said.
"Let's shake on it."
I put out my hand.
She grabbed it.
Then we shook.