I'm Also a Rotten Sister

Many moons ago, back when Frick was still a little wee baby, we used to go hang out with my oldest little brother, oh let's call him Arnold.  He'll hate that.  Yeah, Arnie's good.

So Frick and I used to go hang out with Uncle Arnie a lot.  Sometimes we'd go to the park, sometimes we'd just hang out at his place and jam a little (we're all musicians of one sort or another in my family) and sometimes he'd come live on my couch for a few months.  

Because when your brother is a musician he's gonna need a couch to live on from time to time.  I'm just hoping he remembers that when he's a famous rock star.  He better be buying a state of the art luxury couch for me and my family to live on, that's all I'm saying.

We'd love to hang out with him more now, but his band is doing a lot better than it was when Frick was a baby (since it was non-existent back then) and we live across town from each other now (as opposed to just a few blocks, or occasionally a living room, away).  

Anyhoo....

One fine sunny day when Frick was a wee baby, we met up with Uncle Arnie downtown for lunch.  After lunch I convinced him to come back to my place for the afternoon and maybe have dinner with us that night. We packed little Frick into his stroller and, since it was such a nice day, we decided to walk home.

One thing you need to know about Uncle Arnie is that there is zero family resemblance between us.  We are half-siblings who bear striking resemblances to our respective fathers.  He is tall with dark hair and big brown eyes.  I'm shorter and had blonde hair and green eyes.  Ever since we were teenagers people always guessed we were dating instead of related because of how different we look from each other.  

One time we were visiting a rather senile elderly relative we hadn't seen since we were small and he simply refused to believe we were brother and sister.  The old fart had completely forgotten I existed and kept making jokes at Arnie about what a "handful of trouble" I must be for him.  After a while it was just easier to agree with him.  We laughed our asses off at that one.

So we're walking home when we approach this construction site and we see HER.

She was a goddess in a hard hat.  Blonde, tight jeans, white tank top, steel toed boots and a body that wouldn't quit.

I call her "Construction Worker Barbie"

I looked over at my brother and was utterly unsurprised by the super smooth, gazing-over-the-rim-of-his-sunglasses to check her out move he was pulling.  He couldn't have been more obvious if his jaw fell to the floor and he started wolf-whistling at her.  He was single at the time and I could see that he was definitely interested in trying to make a move on this chick.

Always quick-witted I seized my opportunity for comedy.

I started beating the shit out him with my purse.

"Really!?!  Can't you control yourself for one second?  Jesus Christ!  And right in front of the baby!"

He was flummoxed.  His face turned beet red as he stammered, trying to come up with a response that wouldn't make him look like even more of an asshole and knowing that, in a situation like this, no such response exists.

I started crying.

"I'm sorry if I haven't lost the weight yet.  It's not like I just had a baby or anything!"

Construction Worker Barbie was shaking her head at him in disgust.  Passersby were watching us with increasing interest.

"How could you do this to me?"  I wailed.  "Especially after what happened with that waitress!  You promised!"

And then I stormed off with the stroller leaving him, still stammering incoherently, to face the disapproving glares of Barbie, her coworkers and the spectators on the street.

And that is the story of how I used my baby to epically cockblock my brother.

It's a good thing he has an excellent sense of humour.