Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
The first time I pegged my nose to ostentatiously avoid the smell of my brother’s shoes, kicked off under the table, he just laughed. Mainly because he didn’t care about the smell but also because he could see that the peg was hurting my nose. Our father said I was being discourteous and made me keep the peg on my nose during dinner as punishment. The first time was the last time, too. How could this happen? How had I ended up in the wrong when my brother was the family troublemaker? Always in trouble. Me? Never. Perhaps I had underestimated my father’s sense of humour and sense of fairness. Perhaps he wasn’t so fond of me as I had thought. Originally, the favoured child gig seemed pretty straightforward and predictable. I knew my lines, I knew my role, and I assumed my brother did, too. The peg episode was off piste. Where to from here? There was likely to be some superficial nose bruising, too. Not a good look. ‘It was brilliant,’ I heard my brother telling his mate Johnno at school the next day. ‘She so did not expect that, Miss toffee nose. I’ll kick my shoes off undeer the table more often. She won’t dare pull that peg stunt again.’ We were trapped, me and my brother, in our self-designated roles. The trouble maker and Miss Perfect. But he was funny as well, and me – well I guess I wasn’t so perfect as I liked to think I was. Next minute, my brother tweaked my nose and suggested I keep it out of his business in future. He had a point. He had me pegged. We both laughed. His feet really smell, though, and don’t get me started on his shoes. In range of my nose those shoes are my business. So that’s I have to say on the matter really. When the opportunity arose a few weeks later, I chucked his shoes in the rubbish on bin night. Not so funny when new shoes had to be bought. Score one to me.