My Sister the Beautician
I never knew I was an “ugly little brat” until my two-year older sister revealed it to me. I had just turned eight. Pa has the most beautiful nose in the world, she said, but look at yours, as if someone had ironed it out. It’s flat and ugly. Also Maman is almost white, why are you so black and ugly? I gave the matter due consideration, trying to find an answer but found none, so I just said, Shut your big mouth. She was not one to give up. Don’t worry, she said, I will fix it for you. You are my little brother and I love you so much. Even though I am ugly? By the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t be, she replied enigmatically.
Next morning she set herself to work. She led me to the bathroom, and explained that she meant to lather my face copiously with soap for five minutes before washing it. Five minutes is a long time, even if soap doesn’t get into your eyes, but after the first operation, after drying my face, she intimated that she planned to repeat this a second time right away, and to compound the matter informed me that she planned to start again before bedtime. For your own good, she explained. That was step 1 of a two-pronged attack.
Step 2 was the nose job. After combing my hair every morning, she would settle me opposite her, and take my snub nose between her thumb and index finger and pinch and massage my snout, counting up to fifty.
Did she succeed? I include a more recent photo and let the reader judge.
