It's a TIE!

In 2022, standing in the sweltering, sad storage unit tending to the ludicrous Kimmy McStorage O'Douche Nozzle Affair, I stared down a mountain of tacky dining room silver. Suddenly, I remembered that there was quite a story behind that silver.

The guy who built our house in 1981, C.C., had the hots for Mom. Before our first Xmas there, he brought a bunch of nicely-wrapped gifts. A whole bunch. They filled the bed of his pickup and took up much of the large living room.

The weeks of anticipation reached a crescendo on Xmas Eve. What was in those boxes? They were pretty heavy. Never had gifts weigh so thickly on our sense of intrigue. C.C. was a pretty cool ol' dude, so I imagined an arsenal of cutting edge home electronics.

Dinner couldn't end fast enough.

Idiot
Of course, there was a twist - my idiot half-brother John claimed to have forgotten a gift and insisted he had to race home and retrieve it, a 40 minute round trip. Dismissing the protests of the family, he promised a mere 45 minute absence and insisted I accompany him.

Foolishly, I complied, leaving the end of my Xmas dinner as the others promised not to unwrap presents until we returned. Really, it didn't even occur to me that they'd do something so uncool.

I assumed I'd wait in the car as he dashed in to grab the forgotten gift.

Nope.

Idiot
He made me come in to could play a video game. Intellivision Skiing.

John loved to ski. The box artwork hearkened the airy freedom of blasting down the slopes, but the actual game sucked royal ass. I've never liked poor attempts at duplicating things. And the thing cost like $60 + tax in 1981 money

I lost the first run and won the next, glancing often at the clock. "Championship round," he declared, with much gravitas.

Idiot
He made a fool of himself, getting far too worked up, especially for a 27 1/2 year-old (actually, he became exactly that age that night) man, when his blocky little skier was felled by a mogul he felt he'd jumped.

He had a peculiar habit of swinging the coiled-cord controller way in the direction he wished his crude digital mini-him to proceed, sometimes actually dragging the game unit. I stayed centered and calm, not wanting to waste effort or lose focus.

I won. He blamed his controller. I should have swapped controllers with him and kicked his ass again, but we didn't have all day, see.

Idiot
Realizing we'd been there over a half hour, it dawned on him that we'd better get back to Mom's and we hauled ass, but several blocks into the race, the fucking moron realized he'd again forgotten the gift.

Spewing curses, he pulled a sudden u-turn from the outer lane and back to his house we buzzed in his Nissan Maxima. Then, blazing down Abrams back to Mom's, he did The John Speech - don't tell Mom this, don't tell Mom that, do tell Mom this, do tell Mom that. Dude seemed to always be up to something and scripted lying to Mom, especially to foster bumming money, would long be an integral part of his theatre.

Idiot
I burst in the door a half-hour tardy to see the living room flooded in crumpled wrapping paper and boxes. Nooooo!!! Fuck! FUCK!!!

Mom later said my idiot half-sister Neila, 23 1/2 years old, could not be stopped from tearing into the mysterious gift pile once our 45 minute timer ran out. Every box had been opened even though it wasn't her home or her gifts - those boxes were clearly marked for Mom, Dad, and me.

I glared at her. She didn't notice. I'd waited for an opportunity to glare at John and non-verbally communicate to him that I found him to be a sleazy moron, but he wouldn't make eye contact with me since we left his house the first time. Dipshit knew he blew it.

Scattered about the room was very much weird stuff. Shiny. It was silver. A shitload of silver, like as in serving stuff. Punch bowl set, teapots, platters, casserole thingees, and whatnot.

I was deathly disappointed in both the silver and the world as a whole.

Neila sure didn't see it that way - they said she was "squealing like a pig" as she tore into box after box with sheer delight. Why she would even care if Mom and Dad had a bunch of ostentatious silver that would rarely/never, depending on the piece, be used remains a mystery.

Idiots
What a pair, these Twins.

One of 'em had to be a vacuous douchebag willing to disrupt our evening and lie to his mother + whole family on Xmas (and make me an accomplice) so he could play a stupid game someone half his bloody age shouldn't have been willing to piss on were it on fire.

The other heaved her self-control and consideration for others under the bus over a few minutes and some brightly-wrapped boxes.

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