Today, I nearly finished the neurotic epic called "packing for college." After sitting on my third medium-sized suitcase/duffel bag, I looked out the window around lunchtime and saw my lovely stepbrother pull into the driveway. Home from summer school, no doubt. Another car pulls up, this time with a blonde stereotypic of my hometown. It's misting outside, so the two chat for awhile before getting into her car to continue chatting.
No, it would never occur to him to enter the house. His stepsisters, who "have no social life" (his words earlier this year) are home. But as he later told his dad, this was his lunch break and he did come inside to nap.
Some nap.
My bedroom window has one of the few views of the driveway and the cul-de-sac where the girl's car is parked. The car windows get fogged, reminiscent of Titanic, so the kids stop to defog. We look out again.
Boy-meet-girl.
Boy and girl have hormones.
PG/PG-13 situation.
In a cul-de-sac.
Viewed from a window this is undoubtedly testimony that would not hold up in a court of law, apart from the false assurances that the boy did come into the house.
Moral of the story: with the rocky history of the stepbrother, should parents or stepbrother be told?
"If you are an overeducated (or at least a semi-overeducated) youngish person with a sleep disorder and a surfeit of opinions, the thing to do, after all, is to start a blog." NYT, 09.12.05
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