Trust issues

Update: My green shirt is fine. I washed it, and it looks... about 1 wash older than it did before. I can handle that. My knee is still bluish green, and my ankle is still sprained. A certain 3-year-old niece of mine (who shall remain nameless) ran into my legs as they were perched on the coffee table, which somehow re-sprained my ankle something fierce. But I'm planning on living through this. Bear with me as I continue to whine about it.
My mom is staying with me, and last night we dyed my hair. It's just a teensy bit darker than before. We took before pictures and during pictures, but we have yet to take after pictures. I'm lucky my mom was here, because she has a camera. Otherwise there would be no photographic evidence that anything had changed at all.
And now you'll just have to take my word for it that pictures exist. :)
On another unrelated topic, let me tell you how awesome my brother is. I needed to get an oil change, and so I called him to see which services and fluids I should have done when I go to Jiffy Lube. He used to work there before he got his real mechanic job, and he said that sometimes the people there just tell you need to have stuff done, but you don't really need it as often as they say. So I called to ask him what I should have done, and he said, "Actually, I've been wanting to take a look at your car for a little while now. Why don't you bring it by after work and I'll see if I can change some of the fluids too." How cool is that?!
And this is coming from the brother who used to tell me that in that Beach Boys song, Kokomo, that line that I thought sounded like "mounds of rotten steak" actually said "monster at the stake." Because obviously when you find monsters on tropical islands, it is traditional to burn them at the stake. (We watched "Ivanhoe" a few too many times as children). I think what he meant to say is "Monsarrat mystique."
We used to watch Return of the Jedi together, and I had a really hard time understanding what some of the characters were saying. I thought I was just stupid, because Han Solo could understand Chewbacca just fine, and so could my brother. I'd ask him what Chewy had just said, and he'd tell me, "Oh, he just said that he doesn't want to go to Corusant." Ok, so I know you can kind of infer what he was saying, but please! Erik didn't (and doesn't) speak Wookie!
He also taught me that a lobotomy is where you drill a hole in someone's head, poke a stick in it, and scramble their brains.
He would make sand battleships in our sandbox and show my parents, pointing out the gun turrets, the airplane landing strip, the cockpit or whatever. My parents would stand there saying, "Oh," "Ah," and "Ooh, how neat." And I thought there was something wrong with me because all I saw was a pile of sand. Same goes for his "gun cabinet" in our tree fort. I thought they were just sticks.
So despite having a little sister with absolutely no imagination, Erik is still patient enough with me that he will fix my car for free. Or for cost of supplies. Maybe I could get him to change my wiper blades. Although I heard that's pretty easy to do. I just have yet to try.