(tales from the viral lock-down)
Brice (my brother) is cutting through what smells like a stack of cinnamon french toast.
My stomach growls at the aroma like a hunting cat.
I jump out of bed, grab my robe and rush excitedly to the kitchen.
I see the pan in the sink.
gasp “You didn’t MAKE me any!!?” I accuse, in indignant shock.
Brice, looking up, “JESUS, get on some fu-kin' clothes!”
He waves his arms like he's fighting a flock of birds.
I look down, “GOD, I AM wearing clothes, you PERV! - and a bathrobe”
"Who says THAT’S a bathrobe??” He says, sarcastically.
Me: “Kiki Montparnasse!”, I say, indignantly.
My mom enters to fill her coffee cup.
Brice: “Will you please tell YOUR DAUGHTER to get on some clothes?”
My mom inspects me and I twirl for my audience.
“That IS a little sheer”, she pronounces.
“ARGH!, FINE,” I say, before stomping off to change.
I start to fume."HE CAN GO ALL OVER IN BOXER SHORTS BUT I CAN'T WEAR A BATHROBE?!!"
“And HE didn’t make EXTRA TOAST”, I yell back in pointed accusation.
“Get to work,” (on more toast) I hear her tell him, just before I slam my door.
another day…
My brother Brice is fighting with his girl-friend on the phone.
Of course, I'm only hearing 1/2 the conversation - but he sounds like a ****.
Me: "apologize," I silently, slowly, exaggeratedly mouth
Brice: "fu-kovv," he mouths back, silently
Me: "I'm your sister," I say, "I get to boss you around, besides, I KNOW what’s BEST"
A minute later - He actually apologizes!!! And they make up.
(I dance around the room like Rocky)
siblings may fight, but we know EVERYTHING about each other and stick up for each other with anyone else
