A way so familiar

There are six small myrtle trees in the store, on tables and counters. I water these trees in the morning, and customers will watch me do this, whispering among themselves. Someone will nudge someone else, and the nudged will come up to me and ask "are those real?" I always pause for a second, both to give them time to take it back and to keep myself in check. I'll answer in the affermative and continue with what I'm doing, but it happens frequently enough that I'm becoming paranoid; do I look like the kind of girl who would water plastic trees?
Don't answer that. I already know what you're going to say.

My youngest brother, Eric, got a karaoke machine for Christmas; a real fancy one, evidently. I remember my own karaoke days, back somewhere ten years ago. Kelsey and I would huddle over the microphone that only sometimes worked (to the great relief of my neighbors who put up with a lot from my house, anyway), chanting the words to 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' that we read off of the liner notes of the tape. Eric, I imagine, is singing along to Britney Spears and shaking it like it ain't no thang. But then, he always has been cooler than me.