in second person.
If you've been on a walk with a sister who's prettier than you, you'll have committed to memory the looks on the faces of the hundreds, of the hundred thousands, of men you've passed on a walk like that. You'll have seen how they look at her. How their eyes drift down her toned, tanned legs, and you'll be torn between punching their nose, kicking their crotch, and running down another street to cry in self pity. If you've been on a walk with a sister who's prettier than you, you'll have chosen the latter. But if she's a good sister, a friend, she'll have searched and found you. She'll have looked away from those hundred thousand men, and pointed out the one geeky boy who looked at you.
And you'll both have laughed.