SPOILER ALERT: The following has absolutely nothing to do with missing Malaysian flights, awesome local election results, what’s cool and/or gentrifying in New Orleans or St Patrick’s Day. Nor does it have much to do with fisticuffs, with or without spherical handheld orbs of freshly fallen frozen precipitation, that may or may not last exceptionally long and nocturnally. On a side note, turns out my high school sociology teacher was right: I don’t take anything seriously. Rock on, Mrs. Schneider!
I love my brother-in-law. I just do. And I have two. But I love my younger one more. What can I say? A parent doesn’t love all their children equally; why would you love all your in-laws the same? You wouldn’t, and you don’t. In fact, I’m guessing if you made it past the spoiler alert, chances are good you don’t love your brother-in-law, if you have one. Which is a shame. Because life is short, and why marry a spouse whose siblings are jerks? I didn’t.