"What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"
Instantly, Sawyer frowns, an unimpressed expression on his face.
I continue to smile at him, urging him to ask as I grab his shoulders and shake him, "C'mon, Sawyer, you gotta ask!! What do you call a fi...
"The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way."
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Sawyer's POV:
"Who pissed in your cereal this morning???" Donovan, one of the few people I associate with who isn't family, asks; chewing loudly, "You've been ignoring me since I got here."
Donovan Harris. He practically lives at my house by the way. The little shit never goes home. I've known him since 3rd grade, and he's a dramatic, little pain in the ass that I keep around for whatever reason.
Have been for nearly 10 years.
I don't answer him and continue to casually sip my coffee. I resume doing my crossword puzzle, ignoring him. Eyeballing me from across the kitchen table, he arches a brow and waves his hand, "Hello?? I know you can hear me!! Usually, you'd be telling me that I'm eating cereal too loudly or calling me a dumbass by now!!! But you haven't!!!"
I continue to write in silence and don't acknowledge him. "It's bothering me!!!" He adds, pouting a bit.
I find his efforts to get my attention VERY entertaining.
He's been trying all morning.
The silence ensues, and he huffs, his blue eyes narrowing, "Silent treatment I see. Very mature of you. And you say I'm the immature one."
It's funny that he thinks he's the more mature and better one out of the two of us. I mean honestly. It's like comparing early 2000s Disney to Disney now, and we both know which is better.
Sometimes, however, I feed into his delusions just for the hell of it. Riling him up and shit.
But that comment pissed me off...
Like most things tend to do...
I continue to not respond to him but find myself frowning at his comment. "Haha!! I got you to make a face!! We're making progress!!!" He sings, shoveling another spoon of cereal into his mouth, "I like this game!!!"
Looking up from my crossword, I stare daggers at him, and he pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. "Okay...now you're, like...you look constipated, to be honest with ya," He states, studying my expression.
I roll my eyes, looking back at my crossword. Gesturing to my face with his spoon, he adds, chewing loudly, "What's up with that??"
"That's just his face." Peanut, my 8-year-old sister, giggles as she jumps up from her spot at the table, empty plate in hand.
Her real name is Mercedes, but everyone calls her Peanut. I'm not sure how the nickname started, it's just something that happened one day, and now that's all anyone calls her.
