31 Jan

My brother, you’ve met…

…and if you’ve not, you’ve read about him on this very blog at least once. Well, tonight he’s pretty much taken the gold star for pissing me the fuck off. Where shall I begin? Let’s start the story right before we depart for the grocery store. Since Nate is convinced that Wegman’s is the antichrist, we went to Weis in Bellefonte. This I did because I figured I could live without a few of the luxury things I usually buy, at least for two weeks. So, I asked Nate if he could drive since my trunk is full of clothes for Goodwill. He was hesistant but drove anyway. I mean, it’s a mile each way, so not a big deal.

So, I tried chatting with him on the way there and got the typical two sentences of response back. Whatever, I’m used to it.

Tried chatting with him in the grocery store. Again, nothing.

I filled the cart with my stuff and shared items and he put his things in. We made it to the register and I paid on my credit card, as is usual. Loaded up the truck, I put away the cart, and away we went.

On the way down the hill, Nate faltered at running a yellow light and had to hit the brakes hard to get stopped. The groceries slid to the front of his truck bed and a few things came unbagged. Immediately, this became my fault because I didn’t drive. As though things wouldn’t have fallen in my car if I slammed my brakes, right?

But still, not a big deal. I told him that they’d have fallen out of the bags in my car, too…don’t worry about it. We parked. We got out. I gathered stuff up. “WE are taking YOUR car next time,” Nate informs me, in that dad tone of voice I loathe. “Well, I’m glad that’s your decision to make, Nate. I have NEVER gotten all of the groceries for us in my car alone or anything ever,” I retort after I make sure he can carry the rest of the stuff up the stairs.

In the stairwell, he continues to bitch at me. *i’m not playing this game, i’m not*

“Nate, what do you get out of this?”

In the door and it happens. He says it. As I put things down in the kitchen, Nate declares “You’re just always finding ways to get out of little things.”

Yeah. Like when I put the Foreman grill in the oven instead of cleaning it. Or when I made him do three sinks worth of dishes this week. Or when I sat in my room while he took out the trash and carried the recycling bin upstairs and down. Or when I sat on the couch while he cleaned the entire apartment alone because I was “too busy with homework.”

Oh. Right. That’s actually THE OTHER FUCKING WAY AROUND!

Fuck this shit.