My brother and I are currently involved in a heated discussion over text message (this is in and of itself rather amusing, given how many years he held out against text messaging as something completely unnecessary). The discussion revolves around wether or not he ever locked the windows in our old Honda Accord and farted, then giggled his butt off as we attempted to vacate the premises or ventilate the area, all the while moving at highway speeds.
He texted me to ascertain if, in fact, the car even had a master control switch for the windows. It did. It was a child-safety button on the driver door, grouped in with the rest of the window controls, mirror controls and door locks. I confirmed that yes, it did have this device, and then volunteered the fact that he used to think it was hilarious to push it, break ass, and then laugh at our pitiful struggles to escape the stench.
Not only did he deny having done this on any occasion, ever, he accused me of colluding with my younger sister to make up stories about the shit he used to do to us in his role as eldest sibling. This, to put it mildly, blew my fragile little mind. Him not remembering it? That's perfectly understandable, I can see how it would be a far more memorable experience on the receiving end. Him not being immediately proud of his cleverness? Very unusual, to say the least. Him actually getting angry and resentful and accusing me of taking the time to fabricate new events from our adolescence? Twilight zone.
I don't NEED to make up stuff like this. We were all clever children and had a relatively normal sibling dynamic, ergo, we often used each other as sources of amusement.
So odd.
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