An excerpt from the book I just finished....
"Varmint!" he would call from his bedroom, "Get in here, Varmint."
And I would drop whatever I was doing - which usually involved a hairbrush for one reason or another - and walk into his room, feigning an air of disinterest, but secretly thrilled.
"Yeah, what do you want?" I would say, in as superior a tone as I could muster.
My brother never called me by my actual name. He was seven when I was born, and from this moment on he called me Varmint. Because I idolized him in the fashion that younger brothers will idolize older brothers, no matter how freakish and defective they might be, I loved the name. When I asked him once, "What is Varmint?" he said, "A varmint is a small, furry animal."
This struck a cord with me, I guess it might start to explain why for most of my life I was known around the house as "boob". And just to be certain, the rule still goes that anyone outside of my family calling me this is open to having me metro-sexually kick their ass. Also, yes, I must admit that I do really like the name.
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