If you knew my brother you knew that no one could make you laugh by a joke, funny story, or a simple expression like he could. He was always up for a laugh and when I think back fondly I often picture him sitting cross-legged on the couch, beer in one hand, slapping his leg with his other mouth wide open with that mid-laugh, shocked expression he had perfected within his 30 years. Or I see him sleeping on the couch, leg up on his side head tilted back, glasses still on and mouth wide open. A scene I must have walked into a thousand times growing up yet only now appreciate. This story combines Thomas in both of his glory poses.

We were much younger than we are now, and admittedly in need of a bit of maturity. As I have boasted about before and will brag about until I meet Thomas again I am the luckiest girl for my relationship with my brothers. This evening was no different. Out on the town celebrating another year of the eldest Matthew remaining the eldest Matthew. Drinks and the game, turned into another round of drinks, punctuated by an unrecalled number of round of shots, chased by another couple of pitchers of beer.

And that marked the end of the night. A tame evening uptown, were a couple of drinks turned into one more than too many, with an approaching morning that would find us in bed till noon nursing separate varying degrees of hangovers… or so we thought.

The night reared a whole new side of ugly roughly around 3am. I, tucked snuggly in my bed awoke to a panicked mother and a houseful of smoke. Mike awoke to the fire alarm, smoke, and a father in his “questionable” pajamas. Matt, not living under the same roof, undoubtedly slept soundly through the night.

And then there was Thomas. Though hit and screamed at remained in his tranquil slumber. Asleep on the couch, leg up on his side head tilted back, glasses still on and mouth wide open.

The story eventually unfolded when Thomas awoke the next morning. He had stumbled home shortly after I had crawled into bed, and decided on making a midnight snack. After a short attempt to reason with him, Mike decided to hit the sack himself, making Thomas promise he would not leave the stove burner unattended. Shortly after that, Thomas broke that promise believing he could leave the room for 2 seconds to find something to watch while consuming his late night meal. Of course, like father like son, Thomas fell asleep. The hot dogs boiling away on the stove, eventually evaporating all the water, leaving just the dogs sizzled down onto the dry pot. Cue fire alarm now.

It took 24 hrs of opened windows and doors, and what felt like a millions scented candles to dissipate the scent of scorched cheap meat.

We were all very fortunate that night that the only two casualties were 3 hot dogs.

The pot still sitting in the cupboard with three hot dog shape imprints seared into the metal.

We’ve chuckled over that ruined pot numerous times since the incident. Though my parents were furious, and rightfully so from our potentially deathly situation, the funny thing about Thomas was you could never stay mad at him. A theory that has been tested and proven numerous times over.

Inevitably it took Thomas a while to be invited back near the stove.

I’m not sure a hot dog has been boiled under the roof of the Deeth Household since.

You heard it here first folks: don’t sleep and boil.