Sunday, April 26, 2009
My understanding of dating, mating sites is that pot-bellied old men pose as young hunks to attract young nubile nymphets, who are actually over-the-hill women looking to attract young hunks. Complicatedly simple….
The singles I know are happily single. One has traveled 75 countries on her own, and is on her next. My most adventurous trip of late has been taking my dog to the vet with a ear infection.(My dog’s, not the vet’s – though the vet may have got a ear infection after meeting my dog – which just goes to show that not all arranged dates work so well.)
Anyway, I invite all the matchmakers, marrying sites and dust mites to my very own SINGLES PARTY tonight.
See, S is always cribbing that the washing machine eats up one of his socks. He never gets 2 socks of the same colour out again. S has the world’s leading collection of single socks. Next - I buy a dozen clothes pegs, and the next day, there are 11 left ! 1 spoon out of the new set has gone walkies, under my nose.
So where do these Singles all go? Is there some hip hopping party under the floor tiles of my house that I’m sleeping through? Only one way to find out. I invite all those who have been urging me to meet my match to my singles party tonight. Creep under the tiles and go seek. You never know.
You may have the time of your life. And meet the sock of your dreams.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Recently, I asked a tiny girl her favourite doll’s name. “I have 27,” she said, “and they’re all called Barbie.”
Today’s kid gets a toy when he does well in class, does miserably in class, Dad goes on a biz trip, Mom goes on a shopping trip (guilt), Sunday, Rain day, Uncle’s-coming-avisiting-so-you’d-better-behave day, election day in Alaska, found-a-toy-not-made-in-China day….
Do they know the romance of waking up every morning to the same beloved, raggedy teddy bear? Or is it quick flings, one-night stands with the train set, until the new car comes in? Will they ever know the magic of an entire afternoon spent fixing a toy soldier’s broken arm with string and grandma’s stolen dentures? Or will it be “Pa, just buy me the next-gen soldier with the laser gun?”
The other day I found Daisy Dee in an old box, and decided to introduce her to my little boys, with all her stories and dreams. We cuddled under the quilt at night, and I told them about value, sentiment and love. They looked at her and me with awe. I DID IT, I thought, I gave them a life lesson.
The next morning, my foot kicked something that went bouncing down the stairs. It was Daisy Dee’s head. A monster truck had run over her, a Transformer twisted her arms backwards, and a dinosaur had bitten a chunk out of her middle. I put her back into her box. Only one dainty foot was still un-attacked.
May her sole (and my heart) rest in peace.
Monday, April 13, 2009
This signal on 100 feet Road? – there’s a kid there – a regular. Sometimes, he appears with his head bandaged, after applying ketchup behind a tree. Sometimes, he’s selling ear buds. Today, he had a big God portrait, and a coupla garlands around his neck.
“I have no money to go to Tirupati”
Me : I have no money too.
Kid (looking through my car window) : You’ve got your handbag.
Me : That’s my mother’s handbag.
Kid : You’re so lucky. I have no mother
Me : (heart bleeding a bit)
Kid again : I’ll pray for you to Lord Balaji at Tirupati
Me (last ditch attempt ) : That won’t help me. I’m Christian.
Kid : Then I’ll pray for you at St. Mary's Church on the way.
I lost. I gave him something. Heck, I almost hired him. Trust me, he’s gonna be Big someday. And maybe sponsor my Bleeding Hearts Club.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My summer holiday homework is REDO House.
S wants to know if my idea of saving money in a recession, is to spend loads of it.
The answer stares you in the face. If you come knocking on my door, that is. (And don’t knock too hard, or the door may cave in.)
Between my dog and my kids, they have peeled the walls and chewed the furniture. There is a stain on the sofa that looks suspiciously like some disgusting body fluid, but is actually orange juice, which by an anti-gravity miracle, has also splashed the ceiling. When a guest opened a cabinet, the Giant Book of Monsters fell on his head.
So I’ve spent hours in the sun, in various potty shops (as Priti so delicately puts it) looking for tiles and basins, and more hours arguing with a lost-looking contractor.
The salient points of my Redo House are therefore :
- Only space left for Ma’s expensive keyboard is in dog’s basket
- Nik fell off the bunk bed in the display at the furniture store – so that is out.
- S and I have argued over every item, colour and finish, and now reached a shade between jaundice-yellow and bile-green
- Neel has asked Asian Paints to paint a HYENA on his wall
After copious calculations, (and bad sun tan), I have arrived at NO conclusion on tiles or walls, but reached an estimate. It will cost ½ the State budget, and take 13 years to complete my house.
And will be broken down the next day.
Warned the health column – 62% of coffee drinkers have ulcers and angina. Phew ! Just in time !
Opened the orange juice carton. Packed with Vitamin C and all that… Statistics prove that 46.3 % of people who drink juice, which has no fibre, end up with constipation and piles. Ouch !
Cornflakes… frown the statistics – cause cavities in 8.3 out of 10 kids. (what does a .3 kid look like?)
87 % of packaged foods have additives.
85% of fruits have pesticides.
99% of meats are instant cholesterol.
Idli, dosa make India the Diabetes capital of the world.
Ahem ? Water then? Statistics cannot believe my ignorance, pointing out how 77.6% of drinking water is contaminated with underground sewage…. Ugh !
Not hungry any more. Let me just live on fresh air…
Not a chance ! 9 out of 10 places in the city have air that is polluted with above average suspended particle matter which will give me asthma and cancer.
Stop eating. Stop breathing.
A crash course in statistics :
The interviewer met Betty and Sue in a small American hick town, over a cup of coffee. After that, Betty said Bye, tripped over her shoelace, fell down the stairs and broke her neck. The interviewer wrote – Statistics prove that 50% of women who drink coffee die premature deaths.
Statistics are bad for you. Don’t believe everything you’re told… unless I’m telling it to you. J