I ducked out early from the weblog meetup last night to head down to the airport to meet my family. While I waited at baggage claim, nursing the worst cup of hot chocolate I’ve ever had—hot chocolate wasn’t what I had ordered, which was the least of what was wrong with it—I watched a man select pieces out of a pile of luggage off to the side of the carousel. He hefted each suitcase up onto the stationary conveyor belt and turned it on. I watched, later, while the suitcases from the flight came out of the wall. No one picked up the luggage he had planted.
The older of my brothers wanted to stroll past me and see if I recognized him, but the younger ruined his plan by running up and sinking his teeth into my right arm. Ryan is taller than me now, and we have the exact same haircut. This annoys him to no end.
"Sissy, why do you have to have the same haircut as me?"
"Because it’s a girl haircut."
"No it isn’t."
"You’re right. Lots of the boy hipsters in town have a very similar haircut. It’s in."
"No it’s not. I’m a loser."
"Darling, you’re in Seattle now. Being a loser is cool."
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