Might As Well Laugh & Plant a Meadow

"What are you giggling about?" I said, "You look like you're about to tell that hilarious story of how I fell off the truck tailgate, tumbled onto the dirt road, and you let me chase the truck for about a mile before you bothered to tell Daddy to stop."

"You were fine," my sister dismissed me with a wave, implying I was the dramatic one for recalling this childhood trauma. 

On this windy afternoon,  Momma and I were making cuttings of perennials. Repetitive work like this, kind of like shelling peas, is good visiting time. So my sister had pulled up a chair.  Her Dolly Parton blond hair swirled in the post-hurricane breeze. She slid off her shades, calmed the hair-nado and sighed an exasperated, whole-body-sigh ending in a throaty giggle. 

I knew this expression well. It meant she had a funny story to tell.