wimpe:

I feel bad for my younger brother Matt, I really do. But not bad enough to trade places with him, which is what would happen if I fessed up to mom how things really went down.

You see, mom said that mine and Matt’s bedroom was filthy (she was right, incidentally), so she was supervising us in doing a thorough spring cleaning.

Knowing that she would find my secret stash of Playboy magazines under my mattress, and knowing how strongly she feels about porn and it’s “objectification of women not as human beings but as unrealistic fantasy sex objects” (whatever the hell THAT feminist psychobabble means), I did something I’m not at all proud of.

I quickly moved my dirty mag stash from underneath my mattress to underneath Matt’s.

Which she found soon enough in due course. Matt tried to protest that the mags weren’t his, so they must be mine. I’m a more convincing liar than Matt is a truth teller, so mom believed me.

Since the time that she found ‘Matt’s’ stash was around Easter, and since the corporate logo for Playboy is those famous Hugh Hefner inspired bunny ears, mom thought it would be appropriate to make poor Matt wear a cute seasonal pair of girly fuzzy headband bunny ears over his new sissy hairstyle with the prissy-assed bangs.

When he screamed and cried all the more, she tweezed his eyebrows into a ridiculously femmy shape and bought him a really bright colorful Easter dress. Now he just sits and watches me (1) play tackle football outside with the real boys and (2) bring home super cute girls. While Matt is dressed so daintily. Mom is so happy to finally have a ‘daughter’ to fawn over.

As I say, I feel really bad for Matt, but not bad enough to fess up and so become mom’s new dress up dolly. I’m so glad I’m not in his shoes – or should I say peep-toe pumps.


wimpe:

After being kicked out of the last 3 reform schools for substance abuse, his mother finally decided to quit her job and homeschool him full-time.  His carpenter stepfather constructed the scaled-up crib, high-chair, playpen, and changing table.  His seamstress aunt sewed his outfits, and his mom and sisters changed his diapers and fed and changed and even bathed him.  His mom’s frequent updates were the talk of his Facebook friends, with a gagillion “likes”.

After a year of this, he never had problems with drugs again.