My brother gains incessant gratification from procuring eccentric gifts. One year he bequeathed me a “Sister to Sister” card, signed with (naturally) his first and last names. Another year: no card, no present. This year: a book entitled, “My Horizontal Life. A Collection of Stories: One Night Stands.” I wasn’t exceptionally enthusiastic, consequence of any insinuation. Brother harassed me with assurance the book was supposed to be hilarious.
He acquired another book for my nineteen-year-old sister. She opened to an arbitrary page, read a paragraph, and, open-mouthed, passed off book. I read, snickered, and distributed to Brother, who sequentially perused the passage, and despite Mom’s appeal to examine section, closed and returned the book to the youngest child in our family.
Christmas dinner topics of conversation (evidently instigated by Brother’s gifts): romance novels (i.e. detailed, intense porn), sex, and celebrities.