So, yeah, I’m stumbling around this morning all forelorn that there’s no Diet Dr Pepper in the house and, though I could make it the rest of the day without one, I really, really need one in the morning.
And I come downstairs and make myself a bowl of cereal and open the fridge to grab my milk and there…
there on the bottom shelf where it should be…
Two twelve packs of Diet Dr Pepper.
It makes a girl feel loved to find that her brother has, without asking, recognized her lack of Diet Dr Pepper and rectified it.
Straight ladies (and soon enough gay men*), things like this are what makes what I charge for the privilege of marrying my brother so steep.
*Or, hell, gay men, if you can talk him into it and get him to Boston, let’s not bother with waiting for the rest of the country to come around.