He and I are so different I’m amazed we share genes at all. Besides the viciously sarcastic tendencies and vitriol obsession we both use incredibly well in fights, there is not much to link us together. I imagine him in a handlebar moustache and monocle: a sarcastic little Victorian boy shaking his head at a I, the hedonist, a crazy crazy experiment gone wrong.
School starts tomorrow.
I’ve always juggled with the thought of what it would be like to have a sibling, younger and older. Never a possibility, due to medical issues and the sheer fact that my own gestation was a modern miracle, but always on my mind. The grass is always greener, though I think that for the most part, I’m happy in my singularity.
I mean, it all comes back to one thing–do I really wish to force my dysfunctional and inept parents on another, innocent being? Hell no.
You and your brother are like a comedy team that can play off one another. You have to wonder what happens when he dips into adolescence, though. Oh boy.