My Only Bitchy Cousin Is A Yankee-type Guy- The... [ TOP ]

I finally snapped at the Christmas Eve dinner when I was seventeen. Bradley had just finished a five-minute monologue about how Southern barbecue was “conceptually inferior to a properly smoked brisket from Kansas City.” He said “conceptually inferior” about my daddy’s pulled pork. My daddy, who had been up since 4 a.m. tending the smoker.

He snorted. “And you’re a menace.” My Only Bitchy Cousin Is a Yankee-Type Guy- The...

Bradley had pale skin that burned if you looked at it wrong, and he wore the same navy-blue polo shirt tucked into khaki shorts every single day. He was nine going on forty. While the rest of us kids were catching lightning bugs and eating watermelon on the porch, Bradley would be inside, reorganizing my grandmother’s spice rack alphabetically. I finally snapped at the Christmas Eve dinner