“You son of a bitch.”
See, Ego and I are identical twins now.
But when we were kids?
Not so much.
Around twelve, I discovered soccer.
Running.
Working out.
Meanwhile, Theodore discovered video games and toaster waffles.
By freshman year, the difference was obvious.
I'd gotten lean.
He'd gotten... fluffy.
“It was baby fat,” Ego growls.
“Forty pounds of baby fat?”
“Puberty hit me late!”
“Puberty didn't force-feed you Eggo waffles.”
“It was one box!”
“It was one box an hour starting after dinner every day of the week. I’d call it more of a lifestyle choice.”
“Fuck you.”
Naturally, being the loving brother I am, I started calling him Ego.
As in Egg-o Waffles.
Because he was actually shaped like one for a while—and while I’m aware bodies come in all shapes and sizes and it’s not a one size fits all world, fucking with my brother is in a separate category from how I feel about the topic of body positivity.
He groans.
“Mary is never hearing this.”
“Oh, she's absolutely hearing this.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“You bastard!”
“But here's the funny part.”
“There is no funny part.”
“You know how the weight came off sophomore year.”
