Monday, August 23, 2010

My little black dress words

Every woman who ever reached anywhere to be interviewed in any article seems to have a little black dress which she says is the ONE element of her wardrobe she cannot do without. (Well, I have done without one for ages,) and anyways, it only really looked good on Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffanys and on no one who has fat knees.

But I do have that one all-purpose swiss-penknife little black dress WORD – or series of words. They fit in anywhere – consider:

LBD words # 1 : Next time, for sure.

Annoying clingy person: You said you’d call. You didn’t call. You were in the house next to mine, and you DIDN’t CALL!
Me : Oh ah ya. I didn’t call? Next time, for sure!

Ma : You forgot to post my letter again?
Me: Next time for sure.
Next time, Ma :You posted my letter?
Me: Next time, for SURE.

LBD # 2 : hehe

Really bad joke-telling person: So did you get it?
Me :(didn’t get it) : hehe.
Me : (got it but didn’t think it was funny) : hehe

Ira : You didn’t apply for your passport reissue yet?
Me : hehe.
Ira : hehe yes or hehe no?
(the problem with little black dress words is friends soon catch on!)

LBD # 3 : The kids did it!

Posh guest arriving at home: Ah, well, your house looks so – er – homely.
Me : It’s a mess, right? The kids did it!

S (from upstairs): What’s that noise down there?
Me : (dropped hot pan of milk) : Milk fell. Kids did it.
S : The kids are up here with me!

And sometimes, if the situation is really bad, I can use all 3 emergency LBD words at once… like…

Someone I don’t recognize : Hiiii Jane, you look just the same.
Me : hehe.
The someone : I still remember that portrait you said you’d paint of me.
Me : Next time, for sure.
The someone, suspiciously : You don’t know who I am, do you?
Me : hehe.
Someone : Don’t tell me you’ve lost your memory?
Me : The kids did it.

Friday, August 6, 2010

From: Jane. To: Rain

Oh great Indian monsoon, please show your face.
So far, you’ve been an utter disgrace!
No storms, no sploshes, no plops.
No miserly two-bit drops.

But wait - hey!
When I said Rain Rain Go away,
I really meant to say, Please stay.
Don’t be a spoil sport, come out and play.

Please wash my terrace, flood the streets.
You have permission to drench my sun-dried bed sheets.
Just Rain.
Don’t be a pain.
I want no excuses, no buts.
And I really want no more power-cuts.
The price of tomatoes has gone through the sky.
Because every farm is dry.
The big ole trees are dying of thirst.
But those pregnant clouds just refuse to burst.

Made my point. Please Mister Rain?
Save our grain. Please, pretty please, just come out again.

Comment : 1

Dear Jane. This is Mister Rain.
I know the reason you want me to shoot,
Is not for the earth or the crops or the roots.
I’m a wise old fella.
It’s cos you’ve just bought a new fancy umbrella.