of siblings and nerdery

Last Friday, a UPS delivery man dropped off a box on our doorstep. We've been receiving plenty of boxes filled with wedding presents lately, most likely because we got married recently, but this one was a bit more puzzling:


Apparently, someone had seen fit to send us a box full of Jones Soda. Sure, it seemed like a strange thing to use to congratulate newlyweds, but if nothing else I figured it was better than receiving something less useful like, say, a second toaster, a package of doilies, or a pipe bomb¹. After inspecting the bottles more closely, however, I noticed there was something decidedly different about them:


That's right, someone didn't just send us a box of soda, they sent us a box of Magic: The Gathering themed soda. But who did it? The box didn't contain any receipts or packing slips and the shipping label on the box was addressed to me, so the packaging was no help in identifying the culprit. More importantly though, why would someone send me these sodas? Was it a message--an edible insult, perhaps? Did I just find out that I had the world's geekiest stalker? The box was heavy on calories, but short on answers².

The mystery persisted until a friend of mine took a closer look at the package and noticed the listed phone number wasn't mine. The number that was there sounded familiar, though, and a quick check of my cell's phone book gave me an answer: the person who sent me a box full of sugar and embarrassment was none other than my own brother. I then sent him the following text:

I just received the soda. You are a dork.

A few minutes later, he replied:

If I'm a dork, why are you the one with a box of Magic themed soda in your house?

I suppose the lesson here is that no matter how many miles separate you or how many adult responsibilities you take on, there's no outgrowing the pleasure of antagonizing a sibling.

Also, as further proof that I have no sense of shame, I served those sodas to guests at a barbecue the next day.

¹Yes, I'm well aware that there are several contexts in which a pipe bomb would be very useful indeed, but I'm trying to write a post here that won't get me red-flagged by the FBI.

² I know this is a terrible, groan-inducing sentence, but I can't bring myself to delete it. Call it perversity, but it fills me with an odd sense of pride³.

³ Before you ask, I have no idea if this endnote thing is going to end up being a regular thing. Chances are it's just a passing phase, much like bed wetting or storing the remains of last week's hitchhiker in the crawlspace. If my wife happens to be reading this, I'm just kidding, dear. There's no need to check the crawlspace. Or, for that matter, the tool chest in the closet, the cooler underneath the old tent in the carport, or the box of polaroids in the back of the filing cabinet. On second thought, it might be best if you just forgot this post ever happened.