ten good things//never have i had a mohawk to show you how i feel

My baby brother (all nineteen years and six foot something of him) dragged me out of bed this morning in order to make and feed me pancakes, in the kitchen with the back door open and the garden beautiful, and lectured me sternly about the fact that he was only doing this in order to use up the batter, and I wasn't to take away the message that he liked me. (This is how we express intense affection toward one another. My mother finds it quite distressing, bless her.)

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