I hate to say this, but the name of my almost adopted llama should have been Ogden, not Shel. And my brother was the one to spot this, figuring out that my strange twisted mind had changed an Ogden Nash poem to a Shel Silverstein poem. Because, I guess, in my mind, Ogden Nash's little poems are about drinking while Uncle Shel's poems are about unicorns, men with many hats, and llamas. But I was very wrong about the llamas.
It's obvious that the person who figured out how my mind had managed to mangle that one was someone who'd had some time (24 years) to study my brain. Because, really, it takes that long. As my brother says, 2 lawyers for parents, 13 years of Catholic school, I've got some pretty interesting brainwaves.
I wonder what flavor of lipgloss I should send my brother.