While we were on vacation, my baby brother and I found some time alone to catch up on those things not meant to be heard or known by parents.
He described a party where he was yelled at by three girls and slapped by two. I can’t remember how many he kissed. And he told me about waking up one morning in a strange apartment. He couldn’t remember the name of the girl next to him, but even worse, he had to use his Blackberry to locate himself using GPS (thank Google for maps!) without waking her. He was two towns over from where he’d started the night before.
“How’d we end up like this?” I asked a mostly rhetorical question.
“I blame mom and dad.”
“I don’t know.”
I prescribed a sabbatical-- some time with no girls to refocus-- and he said he’d think about it.
And as our laughter waned, I realized I had nothing new to contribute. Aside from meeting a boy though blogs, my own dating drama has slowed dramatically as of late.
“What do you think mom and dad think about Ted? I mean he’s Jewish. . .”
“I think they’re just glad you’re with someone.”