Your parents were away for two days. They were off on a honeymoon, they let you in charge of your five-year-old brother; Scaramouche. You were making some sandwiches for you and Scara when you suddenly feel somebody pulling on your shirt. It was Scaramouche.

"I don't want sandwiches anymore," he whines, fussing like a spoiled brat. "Can I have noodles instead?"