Whit's This?

My brother, Big D (yes, seriously), had popped up to visit. He had come bearing gifts for Christmas. Big D and I are polar opposites, people used to occasionally joke that we looked similar but a quick punch in the neck usually solved that.

Joking, of course ;O)

He was sitting with a beer, having had delivered his cargo of gifts and we were making the obligatory small talk.

He looked at his can disgustedly, It was Disco Forklift Truck. A bit of a favourite of mine.

Wee man, whit's this nonsense?
_{Wee Man is my brother's nickname for me ever since we were young. I don't really like it but hey, it was better than the other nickname which was Fatso.}

It's beer ya big daftie. Duh.

Replied I in that way that brothers often do to each other.

It's a bit mental innit, ye no goat any real beer, Tennents or Bud or anythin?

Fraid not dudester.

He swigged away, grimacing after every mouthful. I could tell from his distaste that I was falling short on the man-o-meter. He was quite plainly thinking, what kind of bloke doesn't have real beer in his house?

After a second can of un-manly beer he announced that he would have to go for a Jimmy Riddle. A quaint rhyming slang for piddle, i.e. he needed a pee.

You know where it is.

I waved in the general direction of the toilet hoping that he didn't just whip his lad out and pee in the general direction I had waved. I tidied up a little whilst he was upstairs. If there were world records for pishing noises, my brother would win hands down. The house reverberated with the sound of gallons of water cascading through a loose hose into a pond.

The lounge door opened and Big D came in with a horrified look on his face holding something out at arm's length.

Shit, what was it? I thought. Has he found a rat or something?

Haw, wee man. Whit's this?

He waggled something at me. I took a closer look. Oh, it was only my moisturiser.

It's moisturiser dude. What does it look like?

Aye, ah know it's moisturiser. Who's is it?

Mine, why?

My big brother recoiled in horror as if finding out the hot-dog he had just eaten was made of foreskins.

Whit? Whit ye using that shite fur? Ah thought it was yur burds?
_{Yur burd meaning your bird, which is a Scottish term for girlfriend/partner/wife}

No, it's mine. Why do you think I look so fucking amazing?

I smugly ran a hand across my finely muscled handsome man chin.

My brother stared at me like he would at a vagina eating a puffer fish.

Fuck sake wee man, fuck sake.

He shook his head in dismay at his failing of a brother. I, in turn, shook my head at the wizened old crocodile face of my big brother. I picked up the phone and ordered him a taxi. I was of half a mind to ask them to take him back to the eighties.

I chuckled at his working man antics after he left. I haven't got his present yet. I am thinking he might be in for a bit of a surprise when he opens it this year.