• My dear big brother, you never cease to perplex and annoy the hell out of me. You stand there looking up at me through the branches, a pout plastered on your face. I merely throw on a petulant look and ignore your presence. It’s always like this. You wrap me in a bear hug from behind every time you come to visit. I manage to wrestle out of the hug and end up in the same awkward spread eagle position holding your hands away from me. You start pouting. I make my escape.

    If I were a girl, maybe I wouldn’t be so adverse to your attention. Every time I walk away after you annoy me, you follow me like someone who just stepped on their cat, all the while possessing an aura that screams, “I’m sorry! Come back! Let me love you!” I guess in some ways, I am like a cat. I like high places. I tend to hide behind walls when I have to talk to someone about a subject I don’t particularly want to talk about. I don’t like sudden loud noises. And I become narcoleptic when it rains.

    The first time my friends met you, they said that we look close. Close is, “Hey. Let’s hang out. Go bowling. See a movie. Talk. Have fun.” You are like a mix between a monkey, a dog, an overprotective parent, and a devout follower of a congregation that worships me. Take out the monkey and the dog and you’d get, “I love you. I want to take you home and lock you in the alter room I built in my basement.” Don’t get me wrong. I love you. I do. But you don’t need to love me that much. I’d rather not get annoyed anymore and always end up looking at you with an expression can best be described as, “Go away or I’ll eat your hand.”

    So stop. Just stop. Maybe then I’ll stop taking advantage of your fear of heights and by climbing trees to get away from you.