On Saturday night, The Brother and I were drinking with some of my friends when I received a text from The Sister saying, “At [local bar], come drink with us, partying with [friend] and her younger brother, he is so hot!” I showed the text to The Brother; he laughed, rolled his eyes and moved on to the next topic of conversation.

Five minutes later, The Brother received a text that said, “at bar with your sister”.

The Brother and I simultaneously quirked our heads –the same way my puppy does when he thinks, but isn’t quite sure, someone said treat – and then grabbed our phones to respond to our respective texts. Both were sent with warning undertones (mine: “Sister, he’s just a baby” and his: “Watch out for my sister”) but, apparently, our diligent efforts were all for naught as the already-the-wiser friend’s younger brother sent my brother a return text saying, “Yeah, man, I know they are crazy”.

THEY? Like, plural?

“So he thinks both of your sisters are crazy? REAL NICE, BROTHER.”

“Oh get over it, Molly, calm down.”

“WHAT KIND OF STORIES DO YOU TELL HIM?”

“I don’t tell him stories.”

“OH SURE, SO HE JUST THINKS WE’RE CRAZY FOR NO REASON?”

“Um, he’s met you before.”

“Ha. Hmm. Oh. Well, can you at least tell him that I am a little less crazy than Sister?”

“Sure. If you promise to turn down the crazy next time you meet my friends.”

As much as I love my brother, I couldn’t make any promises; the crazy does tend to come out at the most inconvenient times. He should realize this by now.

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