He works hard, he saves his money. He practices martial arts for the discipline and exercise. He goes home to eat dinner with our parents on a regular basis. My brother is a gentleman and a scholar. So what do I call him? Monster.
"Hiya, Monster!" My voice on the phone is all innocence and little-sisterly love.
"Hello. What do you need?"
"Monster, I am shocked. Shocked. What makes you think I need something?"
"Um. Because you called me?"
"If you don't have a question, I should get back to work..."
"Wait! Tell me of this thing you call Blu-ray, and how I can make it my own!"
"Okay, do you have a pen and paper?"
"Um, yes." I don't mention that I'm driving whilst juggling pen, paper and cell phone. That sort of thing just makes Monster worry.
I should try to be a better sister to him, I just can't figure out how. There's nothing Monster needs that he doesn't accomplish himself. I'm not saying he's perfect - just so close to perfect that sometimes their mail gets mixed up.
The one and only time I was able to be of any help to him was when we were children. Even at eight years old, Monster was full of moral rectitude. On the playground he took turns, was always humble in victory and gracious in defeat. This, as you can imagine, did not endear him overmuch to the other boys. One of his cohorts took to calling him an unimaginative yet mean-spirited nickname. Monster merely turned the other cheek. He wanted to set a good example for his baby sister.
Then I arrived on the scene and kicked that little boy's teeth in.
Some of you are appreciating the irony - I've given my brother this ridiculous nickname, yet if any one else attempts the same I open up a can of whoop-ass. Others of you have stopped hoping for consistency, and therefore have much more realistic expectations of me. And that's why Monster and I get along so well - he knows I'm a sarcastic weirdo with anger management issues, and loves me anyway. So thanks, big brother! And happy belated birthday.