Baby Brother
Louise de Leon
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copyright 1992
Disclaimer: No actual brothers were harmed in the making of this story. However, patience was severly taxed.

    I hate my baby brother. No, I don't think I hate him. I abhor him. He steals my ballpens, pours indelible ink on my CAT han     I've accumulated twenty demerits), gleefully turns my Trigo notebook into a coloring book (you guessed it, I'm flunking Trigo), and continually eats my entire stash of junk food in eight minutes flat. And to think all of that happens on a biweekly basis (every Sunday and Wednesday). Baby brothers were made to plague the lives of sisters and siblings alike. Woe to you who have them, and those say they want one (only children and only girls), I have one up for sale.
    "Ate 'Ais, Ate 'Ais, come he'e."The critter can't even say his r's and he's six years old already! I turn to face the origin of the irritating voice.
    "What is it pipsqueak?"
    "Come heeee'eee!" he whines. The brat!
    "I sigh, and walk to the brat, who is standing outside my bedroom door.
    "Close eyes," he says in all seriousness.
    Double sighing, I close them.
    There's a rustle of paper.
    "Okay, open please."
    In front of me there's a crayon drawing of me, with a sign underneath saying 'Thank u Ate 'Ais. I lab u.'
 



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