Brotherly Love

Here's a short story that sums up the relationship between me and my brother.
With senior pictures coming up, my mother began insisting that I get a haircut. I agreed wholeheartedly to a haircut, but her definition of a good haircut turned out to be some specialized stylist. Given that the "stylists" we used to go to tended to be elderly women who didn't give two shits what your hair preference was, I figured I'd go to Fantastic Sam's with my dad. I'm used to having long shaggy hair, but this time I got a very short cut, and I have to say, the more I look at my cut, the more I like it. But when I came home, my mother was bitter about the haircut because I didn't get the same haircut from her expensive stylist.
So I become bitter because she finds something so pointless to fight about, and in my frustration, I go upstairs to clear my head in my room, and I run into my brother, lying half-naked in a sheet on the loft's couch, having just woken up from a nap. He looks up at me, takes a look at my new haircut, and he says, "Still ugly". Instead of bitterness, I start laughing with him. With one joking insult, my little shit of a brother took all the frustration and replaced it with hilarity. We laughed and I fake-punched him, and all was well. Goes to show that tone and intent carry just as much weight as words, if not more.