I floated a test balloon, and confronted my brother about saying "Poor Rob" when hearing about my foot, and, in true Norman fashion, he stuck to his guns and said it again, adding something about me being a pain in the ass. I had asked Rob to stick up for me a little bit, but he can't seem to do that, ever, and I should really stop expecting that he'll figure out how to say something like, "hey, now, Bored Housewife is a wonderful wife and mother has been nothing but stoic and low-maintenance during her injury." Frankly, though, my family probably would have pelted him with cocktail shrimp if he had said anything like that. So they continued to sing Rob's praises, and I started comparing Rob to Jesus and saying how they would totally push me in front of a bus for Rob, and they just laughed and didn't disagree. Rob just smiled smugly, basking in the warm glow of their affection, and totally left me out to dry.
Then I got the little kids to go around and smell the grown ups socks to see who had the stinkiest feet, and Tommy, the three and half year old, declared my brother to have the smelliest feet. Take that, Stinker!
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