You are beautiful
We're very well aware of the gripe of married men on how their spouses take for-ever to comprehend what looks good on them, and are constantly bothering them to give their verdict on it when they're deeply engrossed in the nail-biting thought of what to say, because verdicts in such matters is veritable to a double-edged praise. I say that even bachelor men, like me, are subjected to similar, but partial, harrassment.
More often than not, I've been blessed with a window seat during my air travels, and as an added bonus, a female co-passenger as my neighbor. As much as you would like to brand me a "lucky pig", I'd like to tell you that, at these times, I really wouldn't mind if Queen Latifah, Oprah Winfrey or Farah Khan were my girl-friend(s). I deter the food served in the air-plane, and no matter how long the journey is, I'd decline their food and survive only on liquids instead. Now with more intake of liquids, you know what happens. Oh no, that's not what I meant. They'd have enough liquid supplies for other passengers as well. Everytime I'm reminded it's time to clear my body of the excess liquid, I'd see my neighbor deeply engrossed in what one would term: trying to look better than Oprah Winfrey. With a tray full of paraphernalia resting on her lap, and a tiny mirror in her hand, probably used for completion, it would be a herculian task for her to make way for me. Only a fool wouldn't discern the situation and not postpone his activity. "I'd like to go to the rest-room, but please finish the task you've set out on," I tell her, thereby making my situation clear. You feel oppressed and regret not being a fool when thy neighbor is really liking the outcome of the exercise, and continues to be engrossed in it. Plus, when nature's punishing you for being a recalcitrant child, you know it's time to act. "Ma'am, I really have to go now," I requested her. She duly complied and set me free. To keep a long episode short, suffice it to mention that I've been part of many such episodes. So, these days, the amount of liquids I consume on board an aircraft is governed by the following basic factors: the sex of the neighbour, unless I have the aisle seat; if it's a she, how she compares to Oprah Winfrey aesthetically, and lastly, the size of her hand-bag.
More recently, I was out on my bike, wandering around one of the most busiest parts of the city looking for a parking space. I noticed a lady heading towards a parking lot I was close to, so I followed her slowly to build a queue of applicants for that spot. The lady didn't prove me wrong, and seemed to be readying to put an end to my parking woes. But it appeared it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. The lady uncorks a bottle, pours the contents of it into her palms and spreads them evenly on her face, and two minutes later, on both her hands. I started to grow impatient, as one would while waiting for a cosmetic ad to complete so he can get back to watching the rape scene in the movie that was interrupted. She could've atleast talked to me while she was busy emptying the bottle. A damsel happened to recognize this lady, came over to her and said hello. The amicable way in which they were chit-chatting and sharing the contents of the bottle, it seemed that they had a lot of catching up to do and decided that the time was right for it. As much as I would've loved to deprive myself of this pleasant sight and leave the place in search of a different spot, the harsh reality that this was my best chance to give my bike a rest, hits me, so I decided to hang in there. Finally, after concurring that I was one of most cutest guys they'd seen all day long, they consoled each other and parted. I moved closer, eager to park my bike, when the lady says: "It's alright to ask. Is SPF 15 ok with you?" and hands me the bottle.
A few days into recovering from the shock, I'd gone shopping with my mom and I see a couple park their bike by the side of the road. The guy alights, takes off his protective gear, and starts to kempt his already kempt hair and proceeds towards across the street, only to undo his pants and...you know what. Meanwhile, Mona darling's hiding her face from embarassment at Robert's act of indecency. Job done, and now check again for the hair-style. What, was the guy making sure that he atleast looked decent before, during and after his act of indecency?!
Well, it's not difficult to see that bachelor men too aren't spared from the atrocities surrounding the notion of aesthetics. Btw, was Robert's is-my-hair-alright attitude aimed at hitting back at such atrocities? The point's a moot one, I'd say.
More often than not, I've been blessed with a window seat during my air travels, and as an added bonus, a female co-passenger as my neighbor. As much as you would like to brand me a "lucky pig", I'd like to tell you that, at these times, I really wouldn't mind if Queen Latifah, Oprah Winfrey or Farah Khan were my girl-friend(s). I deter the food served in the air-plane, and no matter how long the journey is, I'd decline their food and survive only on liquids instead. Now with more intake of liquids, you know what happens. Oh no, that's not what I meant. They'd have enough liquid supplies for other passengers as well. Everytime I'm reminded it's time to clear my body of the excess liquid, I'd see my neighbor deeply engrossed in what one would term: trying to look better than Oprah Winfrey. With a tray full of paraphernalia resting on her lap, and a tiny mirror in her hand, probably used for completion, it would be a herculian task for her to make way for me. Only a fool wouldn't discern the situation and not postpone his activity. "I'd like to go to the rest-room, but please finish the task you've set out on," I tell her, thereby making my situation clear. You feel oppressed and regret not being a fool when thy neighbor is really liking the outcome of the exercise, and continues to be engrossed in it. Plus, when nature's punishing you for being a recalcitrant child, you know it's time to act. "Ma'am, I really have to go now," I requested her. She duly complied and set me free. To keep a long episode short, suffice it to mention that I've been part of many such episodes. So, these days, the amount of liquids I consume on board an aircraft is governed by the following basic factors: the sex of the neighbour, unless I have the aisle seat; if it's a she, how she compares to Oprah Winfrey aesthetically, and lastly, the size of her hand-bag.
More recently, I was out on my bike, wandering around one of the most busiest parts of the city looking for a parking space. I noticed a lady heading towards a parking lot I was close to, so I followed her slowly to build a queue of applicants for that spot. The lady didn't prove me wrong, and seemed to be readying to put an end to my parking woes. But it appeared it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. The lady uncorks a bottle, pours the contents of it into her palms and spreads them evenly on her face, and two minutes later, on both her hands. I started to grow impatient, as one would while waiting for a cosmetic ad to complete so he can get back to watching the rape scene in the movie that was interrupted. She could've atleast talked to me while she was busy emptying the bottle. A damsel happened to recognize this lady, came over to her and said hello. The amicable way in which they were chit-chatting and sharing the contents of the bottle, it seemed that they had a lot of catching up to do and decided that the time was right for it. As much as I would've loved to deprive myself of this pleasant sight and leave the place in search of a different spot, the harsh reality that this was my best chance to give my bike a rest, hits me, so I decided to hang in there. Finally, after concurring that I was one of most cutest guys they'd seen all day long, they consoled each other and parted. I moved closer, eager to park my bike, when the lady says: "It's alright to ask. Is SPF 15 ok with you?" and hands me the bottle.
A few days into recovering from the shock, I'd gone shopping with my mom and I see a couple park their bike by the side of the road. The guy alights, takes off his protective gear, and starts to kempt his already kempt hair and proceeds towards across the street, only to undo his pants and...you know what. Meanwhile, Mona darling's hiding her face from embarassment at Robert's act of indecency. Job done, and now check again for the hair-style. What, was the guy making sure that he atleast looked decent before, during and after his act of indecency?!
Well, it's not difficult to see that bachelor men too aren't spared from the atrocities surrounding the notion of aesthetics. Btw, was Robert's is-my-hair-alright attitude aimed at hitting back at such atrocities? The point's a moot one, I'd say.
posted by Sams @ 3:59 AM
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