Make Me Food!

I lay prostrate on the cushioned couch, and looked up at the bumpy ceiling covered in a thin layer of fine white paint. I felt the desire to do something on a whim, something that I could do to see someone filled with rapture. My brother started his way downstairs trying to show off his haughty personality, as I heard his slippers tap on the tiled stairs.

"Make me food." he demanded, as he said that it was a "privilege" to make him his grub. I knew that even if I could make chow that was delectable, it doesn't mean that I needed to to it. However I thought that he was going to beseech me to make him some, so I made a lavish amount of food for him. I had made all the food while I was in a good mood, but I realized that it was pretty hard to make a lot of feed, so at the end I ended up hating the impetuous choice that I made to actually listen to my brother.

I pondered why I decided to do what he demanded, but at the moment that he said that the food was "Okay." I felt good, that he was gratified by my food. Even though I'm not the best at cooking, I felt proud. I had accomplished something that I thought I could never do...make my brother say that my food was "Okay." which means that it was good. My parents could hear the the sounds of my revelry, though it was only a small accomplishment I still felt proud.