In this week's column you're introduced to my cousin, Andi, the seventeen-year-old girl who has invaded our house and leaves her flat iron on the boys' bathroom sink. She might as well have a gigantic target painted on her face, because Liam aggravates the will to live out of her every chance he gets.
We have several sayings in our family to describe our bizarre, shared traits. We say things like "Oh, TOTALLY a Scaggs," or "Just like a Scaggs," and "It's because I am a SCAGGS" to explain or excuse large chests, lanky builds, occasional diva-esque behavior, sharp tongues, or bar fight mentality. People affiliated or familiar with our family are all "YEAH YOU ARE."
Because Chris is now in a house occupied by not one, but two Scaggs' women, a general collective pity for him has begun to accumulate. To illustrate: Chris is infamous for saying something only to forget it two minutes' after he's said it and trying to pass it off as something else. Now that Andi's here, I have a witness. Last night Andi and I were discussing our disdain for short skirts, she because she's delusional and thinks her legs are thick, and me because I am not and believe that my legs are too skinny and my knees resemble doorknobs.
"Well she hates skirts because of her thin legs and you hate them because your legs are thick," Chris said to us.
Our eyes widened and the air turned sour.
"Excuse me?" I whispered, my voice sucked from my throat by the frothy, black pit of rage which temporarily coated my lungs and at that moment, rendered speech a monumental feat. I am kidding. "Did you say that my legs were thin?"
"Yeah, did you say that my legs were thick?" Andi chimed.
"No, I did not. I did not. I meant that YOU think your legs are ... ohmygawd. FORGET IT."