The Case of the Favorite Child

My mother opens up her cards. I look over her shoulder to read my brother's card. On the bottom of the $4 Hallmark card, he wrote, "Thanks for being the best mom."

I bust out laughing, unable to contain myself.

"'Thanks for being the best mom?' What a suck up!"

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Who writes that!?"

"I do."

"Yeah you and 4-year-olds! You're a grown man! A grown married man!'Thanks for being the best mom!'" and I continually laugh.

It should be mentioned that no one else in the room is laughing with me.

"Are you saying that Mom isn't the best mom?"

Dammit. I left myself open for this. The fact that he also said this with a straight face makes me laugh harder.

"It's just, 'Thanks for being the best mom?' The language is so elementary!"

My step-father picks up the phone, presumably to call his own mother. I try to rope him into this, because he usually gets into trouble with me. I turn to him, "Hey Paul, are you calling your mom to tell her that she's the bestest?"

He smiles and says nothing. Everyone can hear the busy signal.

"Looks like your sister beat you to it. She's on the phone right now telling your mom that she's the best first."

I really don't know when to quit.

The mystery of why my brother is the favorite child is now solved.

But, seriously, who says that?