Manly Man, Leg Crosser or Intellectual: Part I
Manly Man, Leg Crosser or Intellectual: Part II
I've had several people ask if I'd write more about my brother.
So, by popular demand, here it is:
If you haven't noticed, it's time I let you know that I have the best brother in the world. His long list of talents goes on and on. He's written a book; he's been a rocket scientist--literally; he's helped make robots THAT MOVE. He can scale any mountain; he can probably ski backwards. Why, you ask? Just because he's awesome!
My brother is my hero. We all have to have a hero. So, if you already have one, maybe you shouldn't read on. Because today, after reading this story and watching this video, you might have a new hero. You might shun the old one since they can't make robots THAT MOVE. And they won't help you create videos quite as nice as the one below.
So, read on . . . only if you dare!
When I think of my brother, so many different stories come to mind. The time we got stuck on a mountain of snow; the time I flew over my bike's handlebars because I wanted to speed faster than my bro; the time we went rock climbing and camped out for weeks. Those are great stories, but some of the best memories are the little ones. I'm going to write about one of those today.
Disclaimer: I've heard this story so many times, from so many different people, I don't know if I was there for the whole experience, or if I just feel like I was. If this isn't completely accurate, please forgive me. This is a classic story in my family and I want to do it as much justice as I can.
My brother and one of his teenage friends (let's call him "Bob") decided to stay the night at our house. They were a couple of goofballs and played Nintendo until it was really late.
The whole time they played, my brother's friend, Bob kept saying, "Man, your feet stink."
Now if you ask me, that wasn't good etiquette. If you're at someone's house and their feet DO stink, you don't tell them directly. You say something sweet like, "I've been thinking about taking a shower. Did you take a shower today? I'd love to wash my feet. Doesn't now sound like a great time to wash your feet?" I know it sounds girly and that's why Bob didn't say it, but that's what he should have done IF he had manners!
They played a bit longer, my brother probably winning all the while--since he always wins. I think every time Bob lost, he'd turn to my brother. "Man. They really do stink. I can't believe I can smell your feet from here!"
The kid scooted away, maybe just sore about losing, but still commenting about my brother's feet anyway. It got to the point of insanity. That kid practically ranted about my brother's radiating feet. He must have thought they smelled worse than Hell on a Sunday.
By the way, if that phrase (about Hell on a Sunday) confused you, then let me explain; Hell would smell worse on a Sunday because Satan hates the Christians' "holy day." Come to think of it, I bet he hates the original Sabbath as well! That Satan, he's just a big, fat weekend hater!
Anyway, back to the story . . . The kid lost again, put down his controller and hunkered off to the bathroom. That's when my brother got a great idea. He tiptoed over to Bob's pillow, gazed around, hunching as he slipped off his sweaty socks. First one, then the other. Just as he heard the toilet flushing down the hallway, my brother shoved his socks into Bob's pillow and snickered as he went back to the other side of the room.
When Bob entered the room, my brother suggested they be done playing games for the night. After all, it was getting late. Little did Bobby know, the greatest game of all was still afoot! But ignorant Bob, had regained a semblance of composure. He grabbed his pillow and blanket before trying to go to sleep on the floor. Just as his head sunk into the nice, soft pillow, Bob sniffed. He sniffed, once, twice, before jolting like a frightened cat.
"Man, your feet really DO stink!"
"No, I just washed them. You must be smelling something else," my brother said and held up his gleaming unsheathed feet.
"You washed them? Then how come I smell them from here?"
"Not sure." My brother shrugged. He closed his eyes and nestled into his own downy fresh pillow because sometimes it pays to be awesome!
Bob tried to go to sleep a few more times before finally grabbing his pillow and blanket. He trudged into the next room. "I can still smell your feet!" he yelled.
"That's not me. You must be smelling something else. Maybe your own feet." My brother chuckled into his pillow, the laugh of a scientist! Then he smiled--I bet he did--as he thought of Bob's dilemma and snuggled into his own sweet pillow. He had the best sleep ever, dreaming about golden socks and feet clothed in Hermes shoes.
I don't know if "Bob" ever found the socks in his pillow, but part of me wonders if he went home with a face that smelled worse than Hell on a Weekend.
If you dared to read on, I know that my brother is becoming your hero. How do I know? I just do. So if you want to solidify the fact, just watch this video! My brother helped me make it for a history class over a decade ago. I'll have you know, that I got an "A" on this project. All because my brother is the best!
P. S. When my poor mother realized we'd decapitated my Cabbage Patch doll, she was sooo sad. "That was a fifteen dollar doll!" she said.
"What can I say? She shouldn't have married Henry!"