When I initially announced to my friends that my brother & I would be living under the same roof, the reaction was pretty much the same: “I know you two get on very well, but you’ve lived alone for 5+ years - won’t it drive you crazy?!”
I did fully admit the possibility of insanity arising from the arrangement, but knowing that my brother had the same hermit-ish tendencies as I did, I figured we could make it all work. And we have - quite well, since our paths only cross once a day at best in the house.
Everyone assumes that because we live together that we have these awesome, deep conversations. Well, yeah, not so much, LOL. Our “in-house” conversations are usually along the lines of, “I’m going for lunch, would you like something?” (D-love) or, “I’m hitting the store, what do we need besides Coke?” (Me.)
Our very deep conversations over sports or pop culture take place up at the pub. Honestly, for the most part we might as well live quite far apart and have the same pub. (That and he helps when my cable box decides to go Linda Blair on me like it has done this evening.)
That all being said, the bugger has been out of town since Thursday, and I miss having the little git about. It’s not quite the same to text him about how I’m sorry that MNF turned out the way it did vs. being able to holler down the basement stairs.
He’s back tomorrow, and the next lunch is on me. (Or tomorrow night at the pub, whichever situation presents itself first.)
Amazing how you get used to having someone about, even if they’re the perfect “invisible” roommate.
Oh, and in his absence, I have become the SUPER-PROVIDER of biscuits to the pup. The morning biscuits (99.9% me), the “heading to the pub” biscuit (70% me), and the, “I just got home from the pub and you go out and be done by the time I am done going to the loo and getting a drink” biscuit (95% little bro) - I AM THE QUEEN! ;)
*To be sung to the melody of “Come home Snoopy, Come home!”