Peaceful sleep. Peaceful sleep, why do you elude me so? I wasn't good at sleeping, no, but that didn't give anyone the right to take it away from me in such an ungodly way. Who wants to wake up to the batter splatter of Pancake on their face? It smelled like flour and raw eggs, and when some of it seeped into my eye I groaned, nearly ready to jump up and strangle Finley with sleep wrinkled bare hands. Why was he standing there, peeking into my room with a spoon, anyway? Once he was sandwiched in the door and squished there to my satisfaction, I snorted a reply to his words. Salty pancakes sounded gross and not something I wanted to partake in. Was I really going to have to make breakfast for the dickhead when he'd spent so much time on his own, but no â€" the realization hit me that he probably snuck into restaurants or had enough women around to feed him constantly. Mooch. The spoon beside me waggled ominously with my stare, and I decided that it was more than fair to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

The spoon floated bouncily towards Finn, and it went right up to his mouth with an intimacy that had me grinning in a way that our interactions often did. So, Finn, is the batter too salty? I stared at him expectantly, awaiting the insult or curse or comment in reply to my question. My younger brother looked uncomfortable stuck between the door and the threshold so instead of continuing to force him to taste the actual batter, I bonked him once more with the door before letting it open unceremoniously at the mention of something for me. Oops, apparently I can be persuaded and bribed into peaceful submission. Or you know, maybe not.

"What, burnt pancakes that are going to give me food poisoning? How the fuck did you make it to adulthood. Do you even know how to microwave stuff?"

The question could have actually held some weight considering we hadn't had a microwave until we moved to the United States. Rarely did we have accountable electricity in our home in South Africa, but that was besides the point. I wanted to hear the retort he might give to the microwave question as the microwave in my kitchen was remaining empty and I began to debate what I could coax him into attempting to microwave. There were a great many things that shouldn't go in the microwave, but y'know... why not try? Hey, there is a learning curve for everyone.

I stood up to slip on a pair of unmanly batman slippers and traipse into the kitchen, but not before stiff arming him on the way to said location. Standing in the kitchen in my slippers and boxers, hair ruffled from sleep, I looked way more placated and docile than Finley would know I was. The scene before me was admirable, almost. How the fuck had he gotten batter on the ceiling? Was that even possible?

"What did you do, try and flip them like FlapJack or something? How do you even get it up there?"

My jaw may have dropped a little, but seriously in admiration. What guy can't appreciate an extreme mess? It probably wasn't the reaction he was expecting but whatever, both Church and I found it somewhat amusing as the cat slunk around the corner to lap up some of the batter from the floor.

"This is why I don't need a dog. I have you and that... thing."