I'm just going to come right out and say it: I hate my brother's girlfriend.
(I've been sitting here for the last 20 minutes trying to think of a tactful way of phrasing this fact, but the words "dislike" and "not my favorite person" are euphemisms for the truth: I hate her.)
Unfortunately, I have to credit this girlfriend with teaching me an important lesson about boys and girls -- really, the only invaluable and enlightening thing I learned during an excruciatingly long and hot Arizona summer (there is something to be said for detox, however).
One might think I should not care so much about "the girlfriend," but my 15-year-old brother and I have an uncommonly good relationship -- to the point where it almost is disgusting how well we get along. I'm not sure if it is the four-year age difference, or the fact that during high school I always had pretty friends in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms roaming around our house, but Michael just hasn't ever been the annoying younger sibling. I think he's the coolest guy I know (is this not sick?)
A complete movie aficionado, he will accompany me to any film I wish to see and can recommend a DVD for any mood or occasion. Obsessed with a certain Mexican restaurant in Phoenix, he'll take me to lunch almost every day when I'm home. We go to the gym, read each other's Away Messages, download music together, ally in fights with our parents
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