"Sisters three and how lucky - gal pals right at your home wow!" - goes my new pal J to me. And she is not the first to say this to me - "Three older sisters and you have a makeover machine in your home", said another ditzy pal of mine.

But I beg to differ, mine are all jealous and conniving divas who are vying to get a piece of the other's popularity. I'd say Veronica Lodge would have a complex if she were to see my sisters' bitching. For me the game was simple - Survival of the fittest.

But growing up they used me to get brownie points - I was much younger to be threatening to them. Anyway, I listened to music with one, learnt to read with another and became good to pets with another.

Now you may ask - now that's not bad? And that's all there is good about them. Actually alone they are nicer but together - Amozonians. While the cat fights for dresses and whose crush is better continued, I learnt to be a bitch too.

We scratched each others eyes out for Agassi once and for a Brazil and France football match. Then there was all the fights for actors we liked. Now they've gone BUT each holiday comes with more fights.

I'm not sure why we became sisters we could easily become gladiators in some colloseum. All the wounds re-open often - all the crushes of yore still sting. All the clothes never worn, still allure and all matches won and lost elate and fester.

When I'm alone I hardly think of them - indifference takes over but once a phone call comes or an e-mail - Wooosh! It all comes back - The backbiting, bitching, scratching, tearing and those stinging barbs.

It's Diwali and they are coming... it's time to wear my armour and shed the scales from my eyes, sharpen my nails, click my tongue and sprint to the battlefield screaming -bleep bleep bleep$#&*@!