"Okay, Max, what is this?" Iggy asks for the umpteenth time. He was holding some sort of bowl with a bunch of holes in it.
"Um, no don't say it! It's a calendar!"
"Colander" He corrected, shaking his head.
"Calender, colander, who cares?" I asked exasparated.
"I want you to know your tools before you attempt to use them,"
"Who's cares whether I call it colander or bowl- with-holes thing. Or whether I call it a ludel or a big spoon,"
"It's ladel," He said, ignoring everything I said except for my mispronounciation. I groaned. Then he started going off on the history of kitchen utensils. I would say something except for the fact he was helping me, which of course is saying a lot. We would get to cooking eventually. Why the sudden interest? Probably because Iggy wouldn't let me make ice. And guess what? Our refridgerator has a freaking ice maker! All I have to do is press a button, but apparently I don't have enough culinary genius for that. I tried not to show my annoyance, I really did. But he was going on about the history of utensils.
Now he was baking a cake, and carefully explaining every single detail. He was blending all the wet ingredients together with one of those hand blender thingys and I asked if I could try. He eyed me cautiously.
"Iggy! I know 19 different ways to kill an Eraser! I have the coordination to put a golf ball into the eye of a needle! I think I can handle mixing egg yolks and flour!" I yelled out of frustration. He handed me the blender. And just because fate hates me, the moment I lower the blender into the mixture everything splattered everywhere. And I mean everywhere. To the granite kitchen counter to the baby blue painted ceiling and yes, Iggy and I. I burst into laughter. I took my finger ,ran it down the kitchen counter and brought it to my mouth.
"Yummy, Iggy! Glad you're my teach,"
And after I personally scrubbed down every millimeter of the kitchen,Iggy decided that it was the end of todays lesson.