My older brother Gentzy drove with me out to Washington, D.C. to help me move a couple of weeks ago. It had its ups and downs.
Up: Choosing to jog from site to site downtown in matching running tights that made me hate ourselves at first, but then finally appreciate it when a security guard started to reprimand Gentzy for going into the men's restroom. I'm just glad that in the instance where we are same-sex twins, my femininity outweighed the alternative. More than likely a close draw. But I'll take what I can get. (Don't you give this one to the tights.)
Down: See first phrase of "Up," or: Spending any amount of time in the possessed house I'm sitting for while the family is on vacation. It smells like garlic, and spirits of an undetermined evil nature live in its walls, but I try not to think about it. And sleep with the lights on.
But he drove everywhere (parallel parking like a surgeon), navigated the car during a snow storm, and watched an obscene amount of Mad Men with me. And sometimes all three of those things at once. And if it's any indication of how dependent I was/am on him for that stuff, it took me all of 30 minutes of driving on my own before I ran into a parked car.
Gentzy, you're no Don Draper, but you're at least the third funniest Franz I know. Thanks for helping me move, girl.
