"You need to have more patience"

Said to me by mother.

So let me catch you up.

My mom left and told me to watch my brother aka the boy make tacos because apparently his 15 year old self is too stupid to read the instructions, to ignorant to know how to ground beef, and too immature to be able to use the stove by himself.

She didn't actually say that, but you know... xD

Anyway, so I come downstairs to watch him make tacos. He starts off reading the instructions, and he starts looking for a measuring cup. Now, we have one measuring cup for the size he needed. He picks it up and then puts it back down before looking in our cabinet that we keep our water bottles in.

"...You just picked up the right measuring cup!" I said.

"No! It's not the right kind," he said.

"Well, it's a cup, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes, but..." he started.

"It's the right kind then! A cup, is a cup, is a cup no matter what you're putting in it!"

"What does that mean?!" he asked.

"Just get out the cup," I sighed. "And put the stupid water in it."

So he grabs the measuring cup and measures a cup of water before staring at the box for what felt like five minutes. By this time, my little sister is in the kitchen, and she looks slightly amused by the boy cooking.

"You're supposed to ground the beef first," she chuckled before pulling up a chair next to me.

"I know that sheesh!" the boy said before pulling out a pot. You know, the kind you boil water in.

"...What the heck is that for?!" I asked.

"Grounding the beef," he said.

My sister rolls her eyes. "No, no! You ground beef in a pan!"

"Right," he said, obviously getting annoyed with us. Well, us or himself. I couldn't really tell. He just started to get annoyed. He pulls out the pan and proceeds to open up the package of ground beef.

He takes forever.

But finally he gets it open.

He carries the pan over to the sink, where the meat had been defrosting, and starts grabbing handfuls of ground beef and throwing it on to the pan.

"....Just pick up the package and turn it over!" I said, turning my music down and slowly shaking my head.

"Why?!" he asked.

"Just do it! And make sure you take the plastic off the bottom!" I said.

He did exactly what I told him to do and began to awkwardly ground the beef with the spatula. He finished after about fifteen minutes, and he poured the beef into the collander after I told him to do so. Then he rinsed the meat. I told him to leave it for a few minutes, and he left the room. I'm guessing he went to look out the window, because when he came back he said, "Where'd mama go?"

"She went out," I said for the fifth time that day. "She'll be back later."

"But only one car is gone," he said.

"....Didn't I tell you she went out!?" I asked.

"Yes... but her car is in the shop! I just want to know what car she took!" he said.

"It doesn't matter what car she took! I didn't ask her, so how should I know?! She'll be back later!" I said. "Now pour the meat back into the pan."

Just then my mom walked into the house. "I don't smell any food," she said jokingly. She walked over to the dinner table and began looking through the mail.

"Put the taco sauce in the meat," my little sister said.

The boy grabbed the taco sauce and began to open it, but then my sister realized something. "WAIT!" we both yelled at the same time. "THAT'S THE WRONG SAUCE!!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" he yelled back.

"Put this one in there!" I said as I handed him the taco seasoning.

"And it's on the box," my little sister said afterwards.

"Why are you yelling at me when it's not my fault?!" he asked as he stared at us, letting the meat sit on the stove... which was on.

"Just put the seasoning in there!" I said.

My mom looked at me. "You need to have more patience."

"My patience ran out twenty minutes ago," I mumbled. But what I really wanted to say was it ran out two weeks ago--one week after he showed up.

He doesn't knock. He doesn't clean. He leaves messes. He's nosey. He asks too many questions. He's immature. He doesn't ask his age.

And he follows us around like a lost puppy on a leash.

Yeah, I've been annoyed with him for awhile.

I've lost all of my patience.

And I don't even want to go out with my friends at the moment because I know my mom will make me bring him along.

There's no break for me.

If I ask to stay at my grandparent's, he'll follow.

If I shut my door, he'll open it.

The only place that's safe is the bathroom, and I'm sure he'd just pick the lock.

It's going to be a long summer break. He'll be gone by August.

By then my summer will be.... wasted.