Damn you, Stacy.

So, I entered my backyard in an ugliest backyard contest and lost to this girl named Stacy who, frankly, just had a mess she needed to clean up. Nothing a little effort wouldn't have taken care of, you know? Anyway, it reminded me of one of my brother's favorite "stories."

We're not supposed to encourage his tall tales, because he's repeated them to his counselor who has expressed concern for some of Kevin's adventures. Now, I would assume someone who spends as much time with my brother as his counselor would be well aware of his propensity for falsehoods, but my mom is embarrassed by the implications, so whatever. (One of his stories involved my dad wanting to name my infant brother "Shit-head"; another was a detailed James Bond-type affair that involved Kevin almost getting accosted on the train out to visit me in OH. Truth- a guy walked by and said "excuse me" to get around my brother putting his bag in the overhead rack.)

He likes to embellish and he has a wild imagination, with a great focus on details. So I enjoy the stories.

The best one, in my opinion, is of his girlfriend Stacy and their son, Wilson.
Kevin does not, never has had, doubtful if he will have a girlfriend, let alone a child with someone. He's almost pathologically OCD and the idea of what kissing someone passionately might entail turns his stomach. But he likes to imagine. I think it got carried to the extreme when my family came to spend Easter with me in my new house. Kevin took me aside and told me sadly that Wilson was not able to come with them after all. Stacy apparently was being a bitch and wanted Wilson to hang out with her and her new boyfriend instead of being with his dad's family.
I realize this is a conflict that probably gets played out in way too many families, but coming from my brother, it couldn't be more absurd. Mostly because I can totally see my brother carrying around a bloodstained volleyball and treating it like his son.