Uncle Steve Gets Busted

My brother Steve is a goof. He's older than me by a decade, and it's readily apparent to anyone who has spent anytime with him is he an oldest child. He assumes the mantle of arbitrary tyrant with a remarkable souciance. In other words, he's comfortable being an ass whenever it amuses him.

This past Halloween at a cookie decorating party at the house my incredibly talented baker sister, he made Ruby cry, teasing her that he was going to take her dollar, taking it much further than was appropriate for a five year old. Ruby, not one to pull punches, let him know he was being a jerk. Her auntie did a good job of comforting Ruby.

The incident has all the markings of an incipient family legend -- "The Halloween That Uncle Steve Made Ruby Cry."

We recently went back to my sister's house for another family function, and Steve seemed a bit chastened and Ruby's defenses were on high alert. They kinda had a little truce for the evening and played nicely together, the 47 year old and the 5 year old.

Despite the truce, however, Ruby didn't forget the Halloween debacle, and the whole 30 minute drive home, she kept mentioning her desire to get even with Uncle Steve. Ruby is a straight up grrrl.

I told my sister about Ruby's scheming in the car, and we laughed about it, and then I forgot the incident.

Now, fast forward to Thanksgiving, this past Thursday. I have Statcounter installed... it's a nifty little free service that tells you who visited your site, how they got there, their visit path, etc.

Spread out over hours on Thanksgiving, someone in Livermore, the very town where my brother lives searched obsessively across the site for blog entries that included the terms "Steve", "Brother", "Car", "Ruby". What a psycho!

The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.