Once upon a time, there were two brothers.
And there was a girl. An excessively beautiful girl who was a mere 7 months old.
Both brothers openly coveted the girl. She became The One. This passion wrought great fear in the hearts of their guardians.
However, being temperamentally different, they found their own unique, indomitable way to approach their ultimate goal.
The older brother, born in the sign of Capricorn (with liberal lashings of Aquarian dreaminess) worships the girl. He carries her around gently and is content to tend to her every whim. He holds her on his lap for an inappropriate number of minutes and quietly pronounces to his distressed madré that she is quite lovely. In his usual, matter of fact way. He watches over her with indulgent devotion as she lies on the mat trying to slurp her delicate feet. He arranges her toy basket systematically and reports to the parents’ that they need new batteries for a couple of them. He is concerned that her tummy hurts. Does she require water? He checks out her car seat. You can never be too sure. He wishes to protect her from sun and wind and a number of other elements he can’t quite name.
The Mother, who is wigging out a gradual pace, stands agape wondering:
Who done gone growed this boy up to be so thoughtful, decent protective an’ all?
Yes, I talk funny when I’m stressed.
And the younger brother, you ask? Ah, you refer to the Libran philanderer.
He pulls out every little monkey trick in the book to impress the parents of his LoveObject. He mouths their names with a cute lisp, he dances with abandon to the beat of Daddy Cool, he all-falls-down after Ringa Roses and laughs with his face turned sunniest side up. He’s on a mission – and a roll.
Once the parents of LoveObject have been methodically disarmed, he proceeds to the rug where LO lies, flips a leg over and then proceeds to lie on her and kiss her roundly on the lips, to the eternal mortification of his guardians.
“Don’t even think that thought, young man.” says LO’s concerned father as he physically removes the scarlet lettered lad from his ward’s body parts. But hark! What is that look in his eyes? Is it a tiny spark of admiration at the daring of the whippersnapper?
The guardians despair. Their youngest, a reprobate? A Casanova drunk on whole fat milk?
The stage is set. The dice are loaded. Will these chewed nails survive another 16 years or so to witness the final denouement?
O Time, be kind.
p.s. The girl is a Scorpion. Yes, you wanted to know that. Come on, I know you’re dying to pull out your Linda Goodman bazooka’s! Hit me, baby:-)
On a Wing and a Prayer 