I blame my brother

A long long time ago, I shared a bedroom with my younger brother Peter. Obviously, like most young siblings, there came a time when my younger brother became my worst enemy instead of my closest friend. At that time, sharing a bedroom with a BOY, much less a younger brother, was something I definitely did NOT enjoy.

During that time my brother also learned how to do things to annoy me.

For one thing he loved raw onions. I hated them. (Still do in fact, probably due to childhood trauma). He used raw onions to his advantage as much as he could, eating them then breathing in my general direction. Yeech.

He also learned to burp. Loud. And long. He could burp the alphabet and say ‘Hello, how are you?’ in a burp.

Charming huh?

He’d burp at the table after mom and dad left us to clean up, resulting in me calling him ‘sewer breath’ among other affectionate nicknames.

Unfortunately, he also learned to combine his two hobbies: eating raw onion and burping, thus making my life totally miserable.

He’d eat a plateful of raw onion with dinner, then he’d go into the bedroom before bedtime and burp over my bed, leaving a lingering aroma of onion burp to settle over my bed.

I was not pleased.

See… Peter, like most men, can burp on cue. I never learned how to do that. I’d drink a coke, swallow air for all I was worth, only to bring it back up in a pitiful little ‘bfp’ instead of his roaring ‘BURRRRRRRRRRRP’.

Then, one day, I have no idea how it happened, but we were sitting there at the table when suddenly I felt an erruption coming. I let it gather momentum, growing like a snowball as it rose from my very depths…and let it fly.

My brother almost fell off his chair. His eyes about popped out of their sockets. Not only was it big and loud with admirable reverb, but it came out of his prissy sister!

Over the next few weeks, and years really, I’ve had the fortune to overhear my brother in conversations with friends – you know, the boys will be at a party or in a pub and one of them will burp and the others will make admiring comments… then Peter will inevitably say ‘Man, that was nothing! You should hear my sister burp! She can rattle the plates in the cabinets!’

I’m so proud.

I’d finally earned my brother’s admiration.

However… I do blame my brother. Cause since then, burping became a kind of secret pleasure of mine. In company I’ve always held back, playing at being ladylike. But in private I’m sure I’ve managed to break a few records. Only my dogs had been witness to my growing talent in that area till recently. They generally take it in their stride, but sometimes “The Burp” will cause one of them to start and fall off a chair.

I’ve always felt I could share who I truly am with Wayne. He, being a man, has never been shy about burping in my presence and admiring the decibels he can achieve. I felt that I had finally found someone who, loving me as I am, would appreciate my full range of talents, so…

I came out of the closet!

I no longer hide my satisfaction of a well formed burp. I share it with Wayne who I can rely on to appreciate it fully.

“Well brought up. Pity you weren’t.”

I’m proud to say that in a contest of who can burp loudest or longest, I’m the hands down winner. However, I still can’t not burp on cue, so I lose points there.

Sometimes I think Wayne wishes I had kept some mystery about me, particularly about that part of me. The other day when I burped in the car he clutched his ear screaming “You busted my eardrum! I’m deaf!”

He wishes.

Still. I blame my brother. He’s the one who planted the seed that burping can be a pleasurable hobby. And pushing it underground for so long only allowed it to gain strength and momentum.

Peter, you’d be proud. (And slightly ashamed).


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