Last night as Jonny was following me up the steps to our house, he said "Lar, I don't tell you this often enough, but . . ." and I smiled to myself, wondering what he would say next. I was thinking maybe "I'm glad you're my sister" or "I love you", something thoughtful and loving like that.
Just as I was basking in the warm glow of anticipated brotherly love, he finished his sentence: " . . . sweet tat."
He wasn't being thoughtful at all, he just had a good view of the terrible tattoo on the small of my back and decided to make fun of it for the millionth time.
Ah, brotherly love!
