He hardly ever talks to me. And if he does, he just hints. Or rather hints at hints. And he looks at me and keeps quiet. He's been doing it ever since I've known him — well over twenty years already. Just looking at me and maybe letting a short chuckle out. If I were to be Yossarian, he would make the perfect Orr. Him grinning at me with imaginary horse chestnuts in his mouth and me having no clue what it's all about. The revelation? It hardly comes. No, let me correct that: It's non-existent.
I can get mad as much as I want, nevertheless I cannot help but love the guy. Having a brother like him is highly entertaining. And great, no matter how one looks at it.
It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and I'm having a very late lunch with my girl. Sipping the tea and watching Blaze of Glory on MTV in the back, we chat. How's he, she asks, when is he getting married?
When are you getting married?, a question pops on his iPhone few seconds later while I continue to sip my tea.
Whatever happened in next two minutes is a mystery to me. Did I puzzle him? I wish but I may never know! Then the message buzzes. A firm date, just three months from now. Don't tell anybody, I'm to announce it yet, he adds.
I cannot help but love the guy.
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