Here’s an extract from the comments section over on my Blood Bowl blog. You know; that site we don’t really talk about here as it exposes me as a sad geeky nerd who plays pretend American football with little models of orcs and goblins.
I am a bad bad brother.
Today my sister Megan got married to a very pleasant chap called John. And despite all the odds I managed to actually turn up on time and appropriately dressed (oh, and I also managed to sneak a game of Blood Bowl in beforehand too – hurrah!).
Congratulations to John and Megan, and here’s to a future full of happiness.
Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to head off to the evening do and shatter my diet into tiny pieces.
But before I go I’d like you to provide you with further evidence of my bad brotherhood. When we got back home I took cursory glance at Kerry’s excellent photos of the ceremony. I thought that Jo in particular would like to see this one, as it shows in clear detail the hereditary Hughes gene that causes us to shun all physical contact with other human beings.
“Can’t you put your arm round your sister on her own wedding day!?” Kerry implored to Sam and I as she focused the shot.
No” I muttered through gritted teeth as rigor mortis set in.
I’m sorry, but aside from my wife and my children I just don’t do hugs. My personal space boundary extends to such a distance that it is close to being classified as it’s own parish council.
As my new brother-in-law John so accurately pointed out, there isn’t a person on this earth that poses for a photo more awkwardly than me. Get used to it John, because along with your new lovely wife you’ve got a new socially retarded family member thrown in as part of the bargain!
Congratulations!
