While going through old family photos last night, I came to realize something startling: Brother hated being photographed with me. At first, I thought he just didn't enjoy having his picture taken. But then I found this evidence that suggested otherwise:
This is Brother. See, he is a suave young gentleman. Look at how suavely his hands are folded in his lap. And now, look at this:
When I am introduced into the photograph, Brother sours. He is no longer suave and inviting. He is sad and dejected. Why? Probably because I'm so pink and awesome. Seriously. Has there ever been a more color coordinated girl? I don't think so. Even my slinky matches. And, clearly, I'm really pleased by all my pinkness.
And it makes Brother sad.
Now, you might be thinking that it is just a fluke. But, o-ho-ho, I figured you'd be all doubting. So I've complied some more photographs.
In the first picture, Brother is sitting in his favourite wicker chair. His hair is slicked, he's wearing his favourite blue robe, and he has an ice cream cone. Life is good. He is happy. In the second picture, despite the fact that we are both enjoying a tasty snack of cereal straight from the box, Brother looks upset. Could it be because he has Smacks and I have Apple Jacks? Actually, possibly. Becaues Apple Jacks are freaking delicious. But also, it's because I'm in the photograph. And my red coat and matching red shoes are quite fetching.
Here we see Brother again looking upset by my presence in the picture. Not even his Ninja Turtles are a match for my pom-pom dress and casual pose, and this is evident in his face. Poor brother.
Here we are in the wilds of Newfoundland, building a snowman with Father. Notice Brother in the foreground, looking incredibly put off. Let's go in for a close up just to make sure:
Eyup. That is one unhappy Brother.
In this photograph, his annoyance has turned to anger. I'm pretty sure he is plotting my death. Obviously he didn't succeed. I think.
I sort of feel bad for stealing all of Brother's picture thunder. Actually, no I don't. I asked him if he hated me when he was little and he assured me that he didn't. He said, "Sister, I loved you more than anything in the world. More than my Ninja Turtle playing cards. I loved your flamboyant outfits and uncanny knack of always being the focal point of any picture we were in together."
Okay, so maybe that isn't exactly what he said.
Okay, so maybe I never even asked him.
But he obviously didn't hate me. Pfft. Maybe he hated all the pink I wore all the time. It probably hurt his eyes, now that I think of it. Maybe that's why he always looked a little sick. Huh.
Besides, he still has this jem all for himself:
It's like he's saying, "Oh hai there. I'm just organizing my Ninja Turtle trading cards. Would you like to sit and stay a while?"