True stories of life with little brothers. Please add your own - this is an open colab!
My little brother is the funniest, most charismatic little kid I know. People give him free stuff when we go places because they just can't resist him. Man, I love that kid.
But he is still a boy - and boys are weird. Let me relate to you an example.
I was standing by the toaster, waiting impatiently for my toast to pop. It was lunch time; I know that toast isn't exactly a perfect lunch, but I have very relaxed parents when it comes to mealtimes. Anyway, I was waiting for my toast.
The microwave chirped. Jake, my nine year old brother, suddenly came tearing into the kitchen. It was as if he and the microwave shared a mind connection. He opened the microwave door and reached up on tip-toes for his lunch.
I will add here that we have a very high microwave, and my family is very short. In retrospection, the big-sisterly thing to do would have been to help him. But I was waiting for my toast and he could usually reach, so I let him do it.
I could smell the leftover curry before I saw it. We eat very internationally, and usually, I love it. But my mom's indian Tika-masala, bright pink and lumpy, is not something I love. Jake however, is the perfect son, he loves all food, and praises the cook liberally. So today for lunch, Jake was eating the leftover and undesirable curry. I thank him for it.
He arched his back to retrieve the bowl in the microwave, and I watched lazily from the toaster, wondering if curry on toast would make the curry better, or the toast worse.
The curry must have been hot, because when Jake pulled the curry out of the microwave, he took two steps, before dropping it with a yelp.
The curry fell, upside down, onto the rug.
I can't say that I felt remorse.
"Don't worry Jake!" I told him cheerfully. "There is plenty of curry left! Get some more!"
Jake paused, and looked at the curry. He shrugged.
"I'll just eat this." He said, picking the bowl up. "Five second rule!" My toast popped, but went unnoticed. I was too engrossed in sick fascination.
"UNO!" Jake yelled, scooping a handful off of the rug. "DOS!" The pink mass slid off of his hand into the bowl. My sister saw what he was doing and shook her head.
"Dog hair, Jake. You will be eating dog hair." Jake shrugged and bent down.
"TRES!" He picked up another handful. I began to butter my toast, not tearing my eyes away from him.
"Why are you speaking in spanish?" I giggled.
"QUATRO!" Another slop slid off of his hands. "CINCO! SEIS, annnnnd, SIETE! I'm awesome!" He announced, the last of the curry now in the bowl. He picked up his spoon and began to eat his lunch.
I burst out laughing. His hands were still pink and gooey.
"That was more than five, Jake." I chortled between bites of toast. Jake smiled, and spooned more curry into his mouth.
"S'okay. I'm a boy." He responded.
This is why I love Jake.
This is why boys are weird.