Feeling: I am basking in how completely right I am! Hahahah!
Listening to: Jeff Buckley, "Sketches For My Sweetheart the Drunk"
Reading/Watching: My baby bruddah

So I went home, and since Puppy was out on a church youth conference (I used to love those things), it was like I was an only child.

I had the computer, television, and upstairs bathroom to myself. Lovely. But there was no brother to come sit on my bed Saturday morning and hash over every detail of our lives since we last saw each other. Not so lovely.

He came back Sunday afternoon, heavy-eyed and grinning, yelling goodbye to several dozen people. We hugged and hopped in my car to listen to the CDs Matt burned for me and left last time he visited.

Puppy slept six hours total. Not a big surprise. But... "Why did you stay up so late the second night?"

"Well, people kept calling."

"Calling for you, or calling for the other three guys in your room?"

"For me."

Ah. I grinned. "So, these people calling for you... they wouldn't happen to be female, would they?"

He tried to bluster and roll his eyes, but he was blushing. It was so cute.

"Awww, Puppy's got admirers!"

"Shut up, they're just friends."

"How many of them?"

"I dunno, I didn't count. Jake got kinda mad because he slept by the phone and kept picking it up. He said two or three..."

I gave him my steely-eyed Big Sister Glare of Skepticism.

"Okay, so it was eight." He crossed his arms defensively while I cracked up.

I told him so, 'way back when he was about eleven or twelve and I could already tell he would hit a growth spurt and become a cutie. I told him. "Someday the girls will get over the Leonardo Di Caprio types and realize that tall, big-shouldered, and smart is cool." He was embarrassed by his potbelly and the way he tripped over his own feet, and refused to believe me.

And I issued a threat: "Don't you ever, ever be mean to the chubby ones."

"I won't."

"That's right, because if you do I will find out. I will hunt you down with sharpened sticks. Don't you ever, ever be mean to the chubby ones."

"Okay."

"Oh, and also try to be nice to the shy ones. Don't pick on them."

He gave me a withering look that told me I had nothing to worry about.

This is what big sisters are for, gentlemen. Trust them, and you too can become a Mack Daddy o' Love.

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