Tales of the Trip
In the travels of the Epstein family, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the people in the Epstein family and the poor citizens of the country in which they are visiting who come across the Epsteins. These are their stories. [Cue Law & Order opening beats]
I just came back from a ten-day trip with my family to the Scandinavian countries of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway. (Do not insert a stupid “boy are my arms tired” joke here.) Usually we do the various tourist activities with my parents during the day—museums, breweries, visiting random statues that have been decapitated multiple times (and that was just in Denmark)—and Fred and I go off in search of a little local color at night. Now granted, I’m not out looking to sample all the local goods (if you know what I’m saying), but it has occurred to me that Fred and I make things difficult for each other when we go out together.
When we were in Bergen, Norway, a girl gestured to my brother to dance with her when we were at a club. I was sitting right next to him. I thought that made her a bit of a cheeky bitch.
“Why are you offended? I’m not dating you,” my brother said.
This is true. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Yeah, but maybe I don’t want you fraternizing with some girl who has no manners.”
And with that, Fred got up to dance with her. So much for taking my sisterly advice. Lucky for me her friends also found her move to be ballsy, so they motioned me over to figure out exactly what was going on.
But sometimes people really get the wrong idea about us. At a bar in Stockholm, Sweden we ended up talking to a very nice guy for a while. When last call came around, we said our good-byes and headed out. My brother went out first and I followed.
“Well, goodnight, Mrs.,” our new friend said.
“Oh, no…he’s my brother,” I said, slightly disgusted.
“Oh, sure. That’s what they all say,” he said, not convinced.
“No, he really is my brother. He’s a foot taller and we look nothing alike, but my parents swear it’s true.”
“Oh, really? Then kiss me,” he said, smiling.
“While my brother wouldn’t mind, I think my boyfriend might,” I said.
Maybe it’s my boyfriend cockblocking me and not my brother, after all.