My brother found me lying on the floor in pain (my stomach is killing me and I feel nauseated) and he just looks at me and goes, “Have you had breakfast?”
"Did you have dinner last night?"
"Of course I did!"
"Liar I saw you throw it out. Want to split a cinnamon roll with me?"
"Nope I am just fine, thanks."
And then he left and I resumed my self-hating pity party and he comes back and sets an English muffin beside my head and goes, “Here eat this, and if you don’t I’ll just make another one so basically Kyla you have no choice.”
… Apparently my 12 year old brother is now my nutritionist.