Living with Brothers

My family is classier than your family. Hands down.

I have four brothers and I love each and every single one of them fiercely. We’re silly. We’re loud. We sit on each other. And, if I do say so myself, we’re awesome.

I go home for holidays and get so excited that we’ll all be together again.

I love them. I loved living with them. Boys are great.

And every time I get home, I think, “My goodness, I wished we lived together again. Living with boys is too darn easy. They are great.”


And then I sit down and fall into the toilet because the toilet seat is up.

And I remember how great living alone is.

(If you don’t have brothers – I’m sad for you on so many levels – also, please ignore this post. Or if you have well-trained brothers that put the toilet seat down – I don’t understand your life – also, you too can please ignore this post.)

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