Stridex

A long, long time ago, when Oldest was a tiny tot and no one else was born yet. The three of us lived in an apartment in the city.
I don't know how it came to pass - I don't think there was any kind of drawn-out or heartfelt conversation, but my brother B came to live with us for a while.
He had been living with my parents, and could only have been a teenager himself, but their house was too far from any kind of work he wanted to do. So he came. We made him pay some form of rent - I'm sure we felt we were teaching him to be responsible but, looking back, I'm thinking we needed the five or ten dollars a night. I don't remember what we charged him. I think he had fun, in those days. I know I considered it invaluable for Oldest to have his uncle around. I also know that I was kind of lonely. I didn't work and K often worked 20 hours at a clip. I was thrilled at having B with us and may well have suggested he move in before he even thought of it himself.
Dear Uncle B ended up working those hours too as he and K ended up on shoots together.
I was just remembering August in 1987.
We were incredibly young. We had the energy of young people.
K could work 22 hours and sleep it off - and then feel exhilarated.
It was hot. It was humid.
K and B would return from work triumphant, with war stories about purloined props and misspent money.
They'd be filthy, they'd smell bad. They'd need a beer. They'd be confident.
They would grab a container of Stridex pads and wipe their faces down. AND THEN? They have a little competition to see whose was dirtier.

Middle just walked in from work.
He's sweaty and filthy and exhilarated.
It all just rushed back to me.
And Dear Uncle B?
He's going to hold down the fort while K and I are in Italy next month.
(I'm hoping the four of them have a Stridex contest.)