Today was eye-opening.

Growing up with two brothers, you think you’ve seen it all. At least I had.

It was a typical Tuesday after school if my older brother plopped down at the kitchen table with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, and consumed both in their entirety before cleaning out the yogurt drawer. (Yes, you read that correctly; yogurt fills an entire drawer in our refrigerator.)

It was all very methodical, a one-man assembly line. The knife went into the jar, a single slice of bread came out of the bag, one efficient smear, fold the slice in half, eat, repeat.

Across the table would sit my younger brother, winning the race against no one to finish an entire pie of pizza.

But lo and behold, I was wrong. I had, in fact, not yet seen it all.

This afternoon, I was visiting a friend who lives in a house with four other members of the male species. We were sitting in the kitchen when one of these mystifying mammals entered and announced he would be cooking pasta.

I watched as he utilized his opposable thumbs to turn on the stove, lift the faucet, place the pot over the flame and pour in the pasta.

At the time, it all seemed kosher. But in retrospect, having witnessed the method of consumption, I was not simply watching a boy cook dinner. I was a visitor at the zoo, privy to a private showing of the bonobo’s descendant preparing for the ingestion of glucose.

What was this said method of consumption, you ask?

When the pasta was finished and had been run through the strainer, dumped back into the pot, and drenched in tomato sauce, the subject then lifted the scalding pot and waltzed out of the kitchen into the living room. He placed the pot on the couch and promptly went at it with a fork.

Fine. The worst had yet to come.

A second creature appeared, seemingly out of nowhere—perhaps it had fallen while swinging between treetops—and dug its hands directly into the pot. Two fistfuls of sauce-covered penne emerged and were simultaneously shoved into Tarzan’s mouth.

I clicked my heels together three times and said, “There’s no place like home, where the worst is the perpetual smell of pizza and peanuts.” But when I opened my eyes, I was still in the jungle with lions and tigers and boys, oh my!

Luckily, I needn’t rely on teleportation and was able to return home by foot.

To my brothers, you have been outdone. Mazel tov.