Annual B'Day greetings to RSVP!

Happy Birthday, big brotherness RSVP! Your ninja self looks great, per normal!


Embarrassing big brother story #604:

As children, (young adults, adults, etc.) he always had an adventuresome streak. Yes, yes. In fact, 62% of the time he'd plunge headlong up mountainsides, down ravines, into forests, up hills...(Water traps were usually the places he'd say "Okay. Scootch down there and see what you can find..." Or, "We're going back in the woods to find a hidden lake. Stay home if you want" And Iiiiiii found it. And a dead cow. Ish)

So once, when we were very young and mama was getting her hair did at the Village North Shopping Center, we were traipsing around the back near Shingle Creek (pronounced "crick") proper where a culvert helped the flow under Zane avenue across from where our former dentist was housed. In a first, I got the "Stay Back" warning from he- meaning he'd go first and have fun while I would stay up looking lost and lonely in my Tuffskin jeans and yellow w/green piping tank top from the 70's with no adult supervision. As a rule, parents would ALWAYS avoid this kid perched precariously by a culvert whilst his only 2.5 year older brother was gallavanting. That's right. Not my kid, not my problem.

I did hear shortly after, a sound that would haunt my dreams and ring in my ears for yearsssss. It sounded like death. Like a wailing banshee, coming at your home bringing foreboding warnings. Like, like, a rattling Dementor- coming for your soul. (Actually, it was more like a screaming kitteh, seeing another strange kitteh. Georgie made the same sound in the breakfast nook last week when he saw a stray neighborhood kitteh getting in our planted herb-garden-sorry- HIS planted herb garden catnip. Bushy tail and all)

Turns out, young man found hisself a MUSkrat. Real ornery one too. Oh, he was okay. Tore outta there a$$ over tea kettle screaming. See, in the 70's? When your folks bought you a belt? They bought those suckers to LAST. Meaning, that piece of leather (or canvass) needed to carry you until you were at least, oh, 23-25 years old. Well, that left a lot of belt left over to dangle like a gi belt. Um. Only longer. So that 'skrat got it a HUGE target (lucky for RSVP) and launched at it like a missle.

And. Was mom upset at our risky behavior around a running creek, culvert, and potentially rabid muskrat out for blood?

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR BELT YOUNG MAN WHEN WE GET HOME I'LL..."*


Happy birthday, Biggie. I love you.


* In all fairness, this is similar to the response I received when hit by two 10-Speeds while she taught a community ed belly dancing class, and I was led in the building fauceting blood, splinters, road rash, and a bloody nose...age 4. Note to past me? Do not wear your nice cowboy outfit and try to cross the street thinking you were faster than the bikers.