Friday, November 18, 2005

Happy Belated Birthday Bro!

Yesterday was my brother’s birthday, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to share yet another big brother story.

My brother is nine years older than me and you’d think that would mean he wouldn’t want me hanging around with him, but he actually didn’t mind. He didn’t want me around ALL THE TIME of course, and when he wanted to be alone with a girl or something, he would usually give me a dollar and tell me to walk to 7-11. That was a sure fire way to get rid of me.

But for the most part, my brother allowed me to hang out with him in his room, staring at the strange album covers and learning all the words to songs like Cat Scratch Fever and Rocky Raccoon. One time he was trying to scare my by flicking matches at me when one them caught the bottom of his macramé hanging plant holder and burst into flames. That was cool.

One day my brother offered to take me to Dewar’s for some ice cream, so I happily jumped into his beat-up, yellow Datsun to make the trek. Once there he ordered George’s Special and told me we would share it. “No!” I burst out! “I want my own!” My brother tried to explain that the milkshake was very big, that he couldn’t even eat one by himself, but I wouldn’t listen. I think he got mad then, cuz he really didn’t want to pay for two milkshakes when one was more than enough, so he told me if I got my own milkshake I’d have to eat the WHOLE thing before he’d take me home. (It’s a tactic he learned from our parents.) Undeterred, I agreed to the deal.

I think I was just trying to show off in front of my brother. Either that or I was just being selfish, spoiled brat. It’s probably a combination of the two. Nevertheless, I was full after the second bite and my brother proceeded to try and force me to eat the rest of the milkshake. I tried. I tried as best I could, but I just couldn’t get it all down. Not even close. When I was finally near tears my brother relented and agreed to take me home. But not before reminding me that I should listen to him because he knows better.

In the car on the way home I complained I had a stomach ache. At first I don’t think he took me seriously, but then, as my moans became louder, he tried feverishly to get me home A.S.A.P. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it. I threw up George’s Special all over the floor of my brother’s little yellow Datsun.

I think we both learned a valuable lesson that day.