After a birthday conversation with Small Brother, I reinstated my abstinence. Conversation went as follows:

B: “So that postcard that was addressed to someone else inside the envelope addressed to me that I got from you last week…”

SB: “Yeah…”

B: “Well, what did my postcard say that was in an envelope addressed to someone else? Did they get it?”

SB: “Que?”

B: “Did you realise that you’d accidentally sent me a postcard addressed to someone else as soon as you’d posted it?”

SB: “What? WHAT? What are you talking about?”

B: “Niceness please. Birthday niceness.”

SB: [modifying his tone; probably not for my benefit, but for the benefit of his open plan office, scourge of corporate Britain]
“You mean you haven’t sent it yet?”

B: [blankly, as if somewhat simple] “Sent it?”

SB: [moans softly] “Don’t tell me you’ve still GOT IT? I am going to be in TROUBLE. I SAID that I had sent this person [obviously female, and obviously unconvinced of SB’s good intentions toward her] a postcard from Australia. It needs to be POSTED from AUSTRALIA. And that is WHY… I mean, you want to be a detective. I don’t understand - why would you think that I sent you a postcard obviously written to someone else?”

B: “Ummm. I thought you were drunk when you posted it?”

SB: “But we DISCUSSED this. I told you all about it!! You SAID you would get it and post it on for me - thus saving my skin??! Remember when I spoke to you that night you were visiting Dad?”

B: [takes a horrified breath and sits down gently] “Not THAT night? That was the night I wrote myself OFF! I don’t remember anything you said to me. [taps self on head hopefully. nothing. nil. nada. finito.] Oh. My. GOD? I have killed your plan with my red wine! It’s all my fault!!

SB: [Shrieking quietly] “But you’re supposed to be into detection - there was FIVE DOLLARS in there for you to buy the stamp? Hello? Wasn’t it obvious?”

B: “Um, no. I just thought “that was nice of him, he’s sent me five dollars” and then I bought some milk with it.”

SB: [deep measured breaths]

B: “That’s it. I’m back on the wagon. See me? I’m wagoning. Wagon wagon wagon. I will send the postcard first thing in the morning. I will rub dirt into it so it looks like it’s lucky to have survived the journey! She’ll never know!”

SB: “Oh my GOD. We shall never speak of this again. You are RETARDED.”

B: “Birthday?”