Swapping spit with your sister’s boy: all in the day of a Yale sibling
I grew up in a red brick house in the suburbs. My parents are married (to each other), with three kids and a little brown dog. We have a minivan. In theory, my family is living that Leave-It-to-Beaver American Dream.
But look closer and you’ll realize how dysfunctional we actually are. In reality, our red brick home houses a veritable hell-circus. Take the dog, for example. Not only does he have the cognitive capacity of a tennis ball, but he often smells bad and has serious problems with gender identity.
Or look at the relationship between my sister and me. Here is...
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