My grandmother doesn’t like the way I drive.

From time to time, she is asked to share her testimony at women’s conventions up and down the East coast. She and I had a moderated spat a few weeks ago when her driver bailed at the last minute and I volunteered to step in. But Dad ultimately drove her to Delaware, and I stewed for a while.

However, the tables turn when I ride with new-driver Tim, as I did tonight. I became tense and jumpy — although I do concede that, had I been behind the wheel, my technique would have been very similar.

Ah, well. Let the boy have his fun. I shall be getting my ‘new’ car on Monday. Such is the competition between siblings.

Even walking into Wal-Mart, we kept jockeying for position, using all of our 6-foot-plus height to it’s greatest advantage. Because, as you should know, the Alpha Male walks slightly ahead of his charge. I was eventually able to use another entering patron to block him.

He may drive fast in his snazzy sports car, but I’m still the big brother, and therefore — unless you were to actually ask Tim — cooler by default.

Right? Right?