My aunt is only 13 years older than I am, and has been my best friend since birth. She lived with me for a while after my dad died, so it's only natural that I live with her and her family and kids while they're growing up. So, she's more like a sister than an aunt. By that logic, her husband is more like a brother than an uncle.
I have favorite uncles. Uncles that I see every so often, and have fond childhood memories of lakes and barbecues and such. But my aunt's husband- well, I've lived with him. He's seen me in my pajamas almost every day, made fun of
every single thing I've ever cooked, and given me a multitude of different methods for catching me a husband (none of which are feasible or-for that matter- sane).
While my aunt and the girls are at Kanakuk, it's just been me and him and the dogs at home. So last night, when the tornado sirens were blaring at 2:something in the morning and I was still
sleeping passed out in a Tylenol-PM-induced stupor, he came and got me up before he checked the weather, before he turned on the tv, and before he checked weather.com. Now, he misused the word "alarm" for "siren" so I kept asking what time it was and started to get in the shower before the confusion was sorted out, but it's the thought that counts.
My uncle...he's good stuff.
No comments:
Post a Comment