MICHAEL - KITCHEN<br/><br/>The perks of being the elder brother continued to allude me.  Dishes, again!  I knew better than arguing with Mom, and while there were some maternal buttons that were safe to push, I also knew not to cross her "Maginot Line".  A little grousing, here and there was ok, and safe, but she was still Mom, and even though I was grown, she still ruled her home, and I adored her, obeyed her, and learned long ago it was better to be in her good graces, than not.  I grinned, gave her my almost least sarcastic "Yes Mother", and wolfed down my omellete, with the usual gusto I do when eating anything.  Time spent eating, meant time spent not doing more fun, and interesting things.  Then it was a race to get at least half the kitchen done, or close too it.  I gathered up the plates, scraped them, and stacked them in the dishwasher, wiped down the table, and piled half a dozen glasses that I'd scavenged from table, counters, and bar, in the dishwasher, which, to my mind, was close enough to half the work.<br/><br/>I gave Carly an affectionate pat on her bare bottom, grabbed one last piece of sausage, stuffed it in my mouth, then fled, eager to get outside, and see what everyone else was doing.<br/>