1:00 in the morning, in the still silence of the apartment, the peace is broken by a, “GOOD LUCK SLEEPING!” and a twangy, heartfelt riff on a cheap pawnshop guitar.
Ah, the sweet sounds of family houseguests.
I am blessed with three brothers, all of them musically inclined, and they are your typical teenage just-barely-adult boys. In fact, I am greatly humored by the fact they have to sleep on my air mattresses with sprawling floral bedspreads and ruffled pillowcases. But hey. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Oh, look–here comes one now.
“I’m blogging about you,” I just told the middle brother, his mouth full of toothpaste and foaming like a rabid animal.
He flashes me a thumbs up and a muffled, “Sweeeeeet.”
I love them to death and don’t see them nearly often enough (I guess that’s what happens when you voluntarily move across the US) but every time they come to visit, my pretty, organized apartment turns to the dark side. The usual vacation accoutrements adorn the living room, like headphones and sunscreen and a million pairs of shoes. But my brothers bring with them their own hammocks, and to complete the hipster beach-feel of a Wyomingite on vacation, they bring their own instruments, too.
The oldest brother, the guitar player, never lets his instrument out of his sight. He’s crashed on my living room floor right now, and it’s still no more than six inches away from him. It took him less than a year to pick up and he sounds like Ed Sheeran, and I’m not even kidding. And with his surfer hair and laid-back mannerisms, he could be a Disney Channel star, minus the fact he’d never agree to star in a cheesy TV sitcom because he’s just too cool for that. Ladies, he’s single.
And the other brother? Well. He’s a character if I’ve ever seen one.
“Now I know that this outfit makes me look like I have no style,” he just said to me, strolling into my tiny living room. “But….” he pulls a hat out of his bag, the same shade of cornflower blue as his t-shirt. It has a Nautica symbol on the side. “Now I’m sponsored.“
He’s a coffee drinker and a fitness guru and has abs like Captain America. But despite his scarily ripped muscles, he has the world’s friendliest face and he’s hands down the most adorable person you’ve probably ever met. But don’t tell him that–he looks like a bodyguard and likes to act accordingly.
Yep, they may trash my apartment and play their various instruments at all wee hours of the morning, but their visits are always worthwhile and educational.
Like the time I had to inform them that not having seen The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was simply unacceptable, and we had an 80’s movie marathon. And when they come visit, I stock up on nostalgic childhood favorites like dinosaur oatmeal and Nestle drumsticks, because who wants to eat health food when you’re on vacation?
And so, as we all sit around listening to Dierks Bentley on high volume (we are from Cowboy Country, you know) I realize just how lucky I am to have them as houseguests.
Messy, loud, hilarious, vibrant and loveable houseguests.