Shout It Out

I love my brothers. We do not hug.
I have never hugged either of them. My mother used to always say, when one of us would get off of a plane, "Give your brother a hug!"
I think I tried it once with Brian because I listened to our mother for a far greater majority of my adolescence than the other two did. If memory works, he held up a fist, menacingly, until I backed down.
But when the three of us are together, we are entirely unstoppable.
And we're usually laughing.
Preparing for Brian's wedding, we tried on our tuxedos, accompanied by our cousin Stephen. I'm generally conscious around Stephen because he has always been so much older than I. The gap is large enough that he always seems like much more of a grown-up than me - even now. Besides, he's always seemed so neat. Neat-cool, not neat-tidy.
I'm generally very satisfied when I make my cousin laugh. Each time is an accomplishment. He has such a hearty laugh, too. It's a very loud guffaw that he has. It's great.
Anyway, we try on our tuxedos.
I look fantastic in this thing. If I owned it, I would wear it constantly.
"Coffee? Sure. Let me just haul the tux on. I'll meet you guys downstairs."
Everything is to a T, so we have them bagged up and then pay our deposits.
I ask if there's a charge for stains. The gentleman behind the counter chuckles and says, "Wine is fine."
"What about vomit?" I counter.
Brian and Colin pushed me out of the store before he had a chance to answer my (legitimate) question.