"Who invented brothers anyway?" I texted my friend, a smile tugging at my lips. Pretty soon my phone vibrated with his response. "A brother is born for adversity..." I laughed. Oh, how true that was.
I had been home most of the evening, trying to tune out the incessant noise of my three band nerd brothers on their respective instruments. Insult was added to injury when the sanctuary of my bedroom was invaded by a chirping marauder. I rushed from my room to the other side of the house where my youngest brother was sitting in his bedroom floor practicing his french horn.
"Bobby! I need you to come vanquish a cricket!" I blurted in a tizzy. He looked up with a bland expression, unmoved by my panic.
"Sorry, but Bobby the bug-bopper is busy. Take care of it yourself! It's way smaller than you!" He went back to his practicing, leaving me to fend for myself.
Frustrated, I left the house. There was no way I was touching that THING, so I took the only other possible option: retreat.
Returning home a few hours later, I walked into the living room to find my family gathered there, getting ready to have devotions. I quickly scanned the room, and just as I had expected, all of the seats were taken. I walked across the room to the big chair where Bobby sat. His scrawny hips and my hippo hips could barely squeeze into it together and it had become almost a nightly game for me to squish into the chair beside him. He guessed my intentions and quickly sprawled out in the chair. I was not deterred however, and plopped down on the wide arm rest. I turned sideways and placed my feet on the opposite armrest, effectively blocking Bobby into the chair. He wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of my feet.
"Ew! Really, is that necessary?" he asked with a grimace.
"They don't stink that bad," I retorted. He tended toward the dramatic, and since I couldn't smell them, surely they were ok!
"Yes, they do!" he replied.
"Well, it's your own fault for not letting me sit with you." I glanced up to see that my mom was laughing at our antics.
"Fine. If you'll move, then I will move," he responded. I happily moved my feet, anticipating being able to move to a more comfortable seat. He shifted slightly in the chair and grinned up at me.
"There, I moved," he said impishly.
Everyone laughed at his silliness. Then, Mommy shushed us and began reading the Bible.
Everyone says that thirteen is an unlucky number. We all disagree. As child thirteen, Bobby makes a delightful caboose. His thirteen-year-old humor is still funny without being awkward. I love you, Bob!
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