The Grass is Always Greener

Miss Roberts in an alternate universe

Given my time again I think I’d be my brother.

Not that I’m particularly unhappy with my life, I’m not, its just everything is such a struggle. My brother seems to have everything easy, no brain alien, beautiful wife, cosy life in Aberystwyth. We are very similar my brother and I, but, he does seem to get the better deal.

For example this week we will both be hanging around hospitals, me because I’m having a Neuro-Vascular angiogram, my brother because his wife is having a baby*.

He does not even have to give birth! No going through all that pain and discomfort and risk, he just gets to hang around the hospital and feel squeamish. Maybe smoking a cigar at some point. I’d be good at that, coughing on the cigar, being all anxious and turning green at the sight of blood.

But not me, I get to lay in a hospital bed with a tube going all the way up my veins from my hip to my head, and, if I’m lucky, watch video footage of the inside of my brain. I have to be brave and not feel squeamish because the one time I told myself I don’t need to pretend to be brave is the time I passed out at a routine blood test.

He was always mum’s favourite. She’d wanted boys and I was a poor substitute even with cropped hair, shorts and a boy’s fire engine.¬†I taught him how to fly round the garden and draw chalk faces on the patio, the biggest chalk faces ever!

It was such a cheek when my sisters came along. He was my brother, there to help me behead barbie dolls, fight with, try on mum’s shoes, beat off the crocodiles at the bottom of the bunk bed, and dress up as a princess. I’ll never forget the day he beat me at arm wrestling, still convinced he cheated.

So he’s going to be a father now, and presumably that weird thing we had where we’d read the same books, try out the same experiments, think the same thoughts despite living a hundred miles apart, will be gone. He’ll be a Dad. Dad’s don’t have time for Dostoyevsky and examining skin cells down a microscope. Dads do grown up sensible things.

I feel a bit lonely I think. Bloody hell. And he’d of made a good Miss Roberts.

*I do wish Michael, Amanda and baby Violet the best of luck in the future, I am very happy for them (though I do still suspect that Violet may be an alien).

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