This is my brother, Russell. He's 51 and a Leo. Russ is a six foot four, 190 pound hunk of burnin' love. He's for sale. Before I tell you why you or someone you know should marry him, you should know that I used to hate his guts.
Russell is the middle child. You know - the lost child? Not the oldest - the experimental child. Not the youngest - the we're worn out, just do what you want child. According to him, he was the Angel Child, his position safely insulating him from my sneaky lies & the biting tongue of our baby sister, Dina. He was the only one of three who never broke a rule or defied my parents. Lying dog.
From the beginning, he had them fooled. He'd stand there, all blond & blue eyed, looking up at them, blink, blink, blinking. They'd tousle his curly mop, laugh and shake their heads with wonder & delight. Then they'd leave me alone with him. The moment they turned their backs, he'd narrow those wide blue eyes and turn them on me.
The worst of it took place when I was too young to know about murder as a problem solver. Had I known, his last day on earth would have been the day he chased me from room to room for over an hour, screeching Mama! Dadda! with an Italian accent. I had to lock myself in a closet to get away from him. Fricken dillhole.
Even the most evil genius can't ride under the radar forever. They trip up. Get sloppy. Make mistakes. Like the time he left a "this car climbed Mount Washington" bumper sticker on the back seat of my parents brand new car. The one he was totally forbidden to drive. Blond, blinkie Angel Boy gets a slap on the wrist. Piss me off.
Oh! And when he comes home with a HICKEY on his neck the size of a fricken palmetto bug and my father nudges him *wink* wink* with his elbow? You know what I got for a hickey half that size? Grounded! For TWO WEEKS. Asshole.
OK. So. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Russell. My single brother...Screw him. Let him find his own date. I'm all pissed off all over again and have nothing nice to say about him. Jerk.