I just had a great Christmas celebration in Northern Norway with my mother, my stepfather, my boyfriend and my oldest younger brother, and for the first time ever I met his son. This, of course led to my mother telling stories about what my brother and I did as kids, and at times this was indeed very funny.
My brother, when he was small, he was quite the flirt, or should we say perv? Once when we were in church, he cannot have been older than two years old. He impulsively kissed a stranger in the church, an old women that we didn't really know right on the mouth. She was totally flattered, and from that day on she always sent us flowers in Christmas. Some years later, he was probably around four, he flew for the first time. There were a couple of drunk guys sitting right next to us. Someone touched the stewardesses ass, as she turned to tell the drunk men to stop it, she saw my little brother, with a smile from ear to ear, staring at her in admiration, and she realized that the perv was a little bit younger this time. At this point she could not do other than laughing, saying that "well, you're starting early!". I bet stewardesses don't get felt up by kids every day...
I was the best big sister in the world, I pushed him down the concrete stairs, into a table, out of the bed. I took his bottle, drank all that was inside, and hit him in the head with it before giving it back. The number of stitches he had to sew cause of me is at least consisting of two digits.I would plan the crimes, I'd tell him what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Organized Child Crime to tha bone. I'd tell him how he would be able to steal as many cookies as possible, without leaving a trace. How he would be able to cover up the broken vase, that I broke, of course. I used the poor guy as my own, personal, loyal slave. One time our babysitter was talking in the phone, or something, and we decided to eat some. He fetched the ingredients, I was standing guard. Eating is not illegal, the way we prepared the food, however... It can be discussed whether mixing corn flakes, milk, sugar, and jam on the wall to wall carpet was a good idea. We would say yes, our parents were more on the no-side. I bet the carpet still stinks like rotten milk.
One Christmas, when we were both quite small, my mother was going outside for a few minutes, she told us to NOT play with the Christmas tree. We replied "yes muuum", and she went. What was the first thing we did? Make one guess. The sight awaiting my mother when returning was two children decorated with one Christmas tree. One could barely be seen, as the tree was covering him completely, while the other was shown partly. Kid number one screamed in full panic, while kid number two (being me, the evil one) had a very confusing, and even more guilty, look in its face.
At a certain age my brother had the bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and watch telly, grab a bite, whatever he felt like.It is not a secret that this was not very popular among my parents. One night he woke up in the middle of the night to get something to eat. He snuck into the kitchen, cut a slice of bread, put on strawberry jam, and was about to eat as he heard our father wake up to go to the toilet. My father is rather bad tempered, so my brother did what he had to do to not get caught. In full panic he ran towards his room, realizing that he had to get rid of the evidence, so he threw the slice of bread the first and best place he found, namely in my fathers shoes. Bad tempered father + strawberry jam and slice of bread in shoe = damn hilarious, believe me.
Oh, the good old times.
Shit. I'm getting old.
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