My brother (well, stepbrother, but that seems a silly word for him somehow and we call each other “brother” and “sister now – even “bro” and “sis” in a kind of self-conscious, auditioning-for-Leave-it-to-Beaver kind of way now) is making a brief, work-related visit to us. We stayed up rather too late last night, but a snippet of our conversation remains in my head while he’s still sleeping:
Me: “…Well, after all, I am middle-aged.”
Bri: “You’re not middle aged!”
Me: “Dude. I’m 41.”
Bri: “Well, if you’re going by numbers…”
Love that guy.