There was no pajama party--updated to address Middle's comment

In a comment below, Middle challenges our age difference as originally calculated, and rather than fifteen months and thirteen days, she points out that we are in fact, separated by twenty-seven months. Without getting into a huge thing about it, I'll just point out that she ignores the "twinkle factor," the fact that her chronology actually begins from the time M&D announced "what if you had a little sister?" But, even with that extra time, there is most definitely a discrepancy. So we just accept the point that sometimes people fudge a little when it comes to age, as shown by the fact that she does not dispute the conclusion that she is thirty-something. You still can use the various claims about age to determine veracity.

Anyway, while the slight difference in our respective accumulated chronology is inconsequential now, when I was fifteen, it seemed like eons. As a result, through the tender years, Middle was one of my LITTLE sisters, good for things such as making Easy-Bake snacks and pointing to when M&D said "!!!WHO DID THIS!!!" (Later, I'll share some comments about my LITTLE LITTLE sister, Youngest, and how she actually used an event with an electric drill, a hole in the couch, and an innocent eye-sparkling look to turn M&D's "!!!WHO DID THIS!!!" question on its head so that by one point, they stopped asking and just assumed it was me . . . clever girl).

Anyway, because I was THE OLDER BROTHER, with all the attendant responsibilities, part of my job description during the time that Middle and I traversed the teen years was to help transform her from a Monkee-loving teenybopper into a cool, jazz-loving super-nurse. How, you might ask? Well by that time proven method of pretending to ignore her. It was a character-building exercise in which all loving brothers engage, and difficult though it was, now I can rightly say that she still thanks me for it today (though not in words, don't you see).

As an aside, I must say here and now, that the job became increasingly difficult as Middle's friends ultimately became . . . how do you say, . . . plus intéressant, creating the need for her endorsement and introduction, but that's even another story.

My point here is that just the other day, a mutual friend and I were discussing those character-building years. We compared notes on our respective families and gatherings we attended and the people we knew, and ultimately, got to the subject of what must have been Middle's 13th birthday party. If I do the math right, I had to be the ripe old age of 15 and in the middle of the character building years, so, I would have been trying my best to ignore Middle and all of her tediously childish friends.

Normally, sharing friendly memories leads to me recording the story, but this time, for some reason, I've been asked not to divulge the embarrassing things that "didn't" happen at that party, so my note here will not be as juicy as it otherwise might have been.

Even so, I am still duty bound to report what I can, so I will, and here goes.

First of all, I do not remember a slumber party with forty-three screaming teenage girls.

Secondly, they most certainly were not running from room to room, arms in the air, puppies yapping at their heels.

And, they absolutely could not have been singing in unison, "Take the Last Train to Clarksville" and "Daydream Believer."

Further, no one there that night ever argued over whether Peter or Micky was "cuter," and I'm sure no one even remotely suggested that Mike should take off the stupid hat.

Moreover, I can assure you that I do not remember that they were all dressed in feet pajamas(which they had all not bought for the occasion, and which I'm absolutely certain none wore again until decades later).

And finally, I do not remember that they were not throwing pillows and not rapping on my door and then not running away.

All I am allowed to say is that it was a tame and boring evening; so tame that the more mature men of the house were able to do their daily Bible reading and go to bed by ten, as usual. The celebrants, if there were any up at that time, quietly continued their game of Killer (you know, the winking game) and nodded off, one by one.

So there, I've kept my promise not to report what we discussed. If you want to know more, you'll have to ask.