My brother, the doctor, (herein referred to as MBTD) is my guaranteed best friend for life.

If you know me in real life or have listened to me on any Internet radio show, you already know this.  I’m positively obsessed with him

I would never admit this to him in person, of course.

In person, I comfortably display all the signs of alpha sibling (i.e., unbearably bossy).  And he uses our interactions for repercussion free expressions of his complete disdain for authority (i.e., wildly antagonistic).

(Yes.  I am the authority figure simply because I’m older. It’s the natural order, people.)

There’s a freedom in our relationship, though, that allows us to express ourselves without worry.

I will always love him, he will always love me, so let’s not worry about useless little social graces like tact and decorum when we speak to one another.

MBTD can say things that nobody else could possibly get away with saying to me without being dismembered.

Saaay, for example, “Of course, you’re not stupid.  I never said you were stupid, I think you’re smarter than me.  I’m just saying that what you believe is stupid.”

Or “If you want to be original, then you should…”

Or “Did you learn that from the Internet…”

Heh.  Awesome.

Or we might have a conversation like this.

Me: I’m so tired.

MBTD:  Tired of what?

Me: You know, I’m just tired.  Sometimes, I get tired of trying to be something I’m not.  Or even tired of what I am. Does that make sense?

MBTD:  Not really.

Me: You mean you don’t ever feel pressured by others and even yourself?  As if you’re constantly defending your choices?

MBTD:  Not really.  Why would I feel the need to defend being so F*&^%$# awesome?

Me:  Well, you know, I just feel like maybe I’m putting too much pressure on myself and {blah, blah, blah, blah, it’s all about me}

MBTD:  Wow.  You’re really messed up.  Let’s talk about me and how much I hate the people I work with for the next ninety minutes.

That might not be exactly how it goes, but that’s how I hear it.

Still, he is the one friend that I could not do without.

He might be standing in the back, making faces and rolling his eyes, but he has always been present.  He’s always there.

He reminds me of everything that is wonderful about me when I’m feeling crappy.

He reminds me of every crappy thing I’ve ever done when I act like I’m better than other people.

He knows about the painful, messy stuff that has happened in my past that I don’t want to talk about.  He doesn’t have to be told and I don’t have to remember it in order to explain.  He already knows because he was there.

He just gets me.

He goes out of his way to listen to what I have to say.  He carefully considers my point and measures the value of every thought I share before he tells me I’m completely wrong about all of it.

He’s a friend.

The best kind.

The forever kind.