Just because…

… you are NOT in the same country or continent as me does NOT mean you can ignore messages and phone calls for over 24 hours.

… you are away on some trip to godforsaken sprouts land! does NOT mean you can receive a call after 32 hours and talk normally as if NOTHING untoward happened.

… you are on “last” metro with very nasal women does NOT mean you laugh at ME when I’m concerned about you being thrown off the metro for eating fries!?!

… you are with VERY nasal women does not mean you hang up with… “oh I’m sorry I couldn’t call or message… I’ve been running from post to pillar or pillar to post? What is it?… Sorry baby… Wish I was going to Brussels with you…”

… you know I concentrate more on correcting people than being angry you cannot use it to distract me from being PISSED off. ARGH.

… you say you miss me, does not mean you do. Or does it. GAH. It does?

… you are a boy, doesn’t mean you HAVE to be useless ALL the time! Does it? Bleh.

Of tears and tissues and tchah!

They cannot watch a woman cry. They feel helpless and upset and oh so sad. To watch a girl cry is the worst punishment. Correction: they cannot handle it. So much so, that some women go to the extent of fake crying (pinching their palms, biting the inside of their cheek, chopping onions, thinking about god-knows-whaa?! to cry) to get their way. I mean, sure, if the man you’re with is such an idiot, then please go ahead, get those tissues out and make him pay for all that stupidity!

So, these boys/men, the other sex. They cannot see a woman’s tears. Bollocks. Its the phlegm they cannot deal with. Its the amount of concentration required to understand what a person who is crying and blubbering is saying that they cannot muster. Its even the unlimited supply of tissue that they cannot provide. Useless.

“I cannot see a woman cry”! Really? Then why are women who don’t shed tears by default ”one of the guys”? Why are women who don’t cry while breaking up with you some sort of witches?! And why, my dear boy, do they make you whimper? Why is it that when they are mean and bitchy and picky that you decide to shed your tears? All that matters is that they weeped when you were inattentive and non-committal and forgetful (on her birthday!). So, you try to break up with her on your “1 year anniversary” and expect her to understand. But if she tells you, it’s not working out, you start the water-works!

I can note down a gazillion examples of you crying. You all cry, a lot of the times, and I have proof! I have a lot of stories from a lot of women. But that’s note the point. The point is, if I hear you say “Boys don’t cry” unless you are referring to Hillary Swank’s award winning performance, or say, “I can’t deal with girls crying…” then I will kick you in the shin. I will render you shin-less!

Breaking news to all supposed macho jocks. Everyone cries. EVERYONE. And it is okay. I’d prefer if you don’t, but it’s cool. It’s okay. It’s fine. Go ahead, vent, achieve catharsis, get over it by shedding a few tears. I can help. I can make you weep. Really weep! Like a kid whose cotton candy was snatched away by a scary clown at a circus. So, think, really think, before you utter a sentence with the word cry in it! It better not have girl in it.

Tchah!

Baby-talk

‘Beware of women who baby-talk’ reads a rule from the new Rules for Month of So-So in Esquire. Men’s magazines, rules for men. They are right on track.

But that rule. Yes, that one. We need a rule for women as well, yes? We say, ‘Beware of men who have been with women who baby-talk.’ Stay away like talking to them would mean a bad rash or worse still, herpes.

And if you’re the woman who baby-talks. To her boyfriend, Man, Husband. Don’t tell us. Disappear. We don’t want to know you.

Who will Sock some sense into them? – Clichéd But True

Contributed by the Girl who loves Dosa; not laundry. Yes, we don’t know her, but we get it (!). Sigh. Boys.

***

Dear Boy,

I have lovingly tossed into the washing machine ALL OF YOUR 11 pairs of socks for wash (yes, that magic white machine in the kitchen, the one with a round door which you have never opened – baby, that is not where the green-eyed gnome from your nightmare lives – then why do you vehemently stay away from that door?)

I dug out three of the socks, rolled into cute balls of gunk and sweat, from under the bed. Yes, my back is fine. Oh, you didn’t ask. I even found two of them cleverly hidden amongst the little hill of t-shirts in your cupboard. Baby, I’ll try to explain this one more time. We open the cupboard and put CLEAN clothes in; we then shut the cupboard; we then put the DIRTY clothes inside the laundry bag. I know CLEAN and DIRTY are hard concepts to grasp. The greatest of men haven’t quite got their masculine heads around this one – even Socrates and his companions had lengthy-symposium-debates On How Clean Is a Clean Toga – it’s a toughie, I know. But remember this, darling: Whatever smells like an old egg whipped up with some sour cream dip is DIRTY; without a doubt.

Oh, and I don’t have a cold anymore; and my olfactory senses are back in all their twitching glory. So, when I say the socks are going to generate complaints from our neighbours about leaving garbage out at odd hours of the day, I am NOT being sarcastic. That’s another concept you never fully grasped. When I say things like “Zombie flicks make me want eat my own brain up” and “I will, without batting an eyelid, marry a man who can make a good dosa”- this is NOT me being sarcastic. But, don’t worry about all this too much, baby.

Why else am I with you but to round up and banish all the murky things away from your life; to make it bright and shiny everyday without you even noticing; to joyfully clip on 22 socks onto the clothesline one after the other, with a smile on my face and a glint in my eye.; why else am I with you but to see you fresh and happy just like your freshly-laundered socks? Now, THIS is me being sarcastic. See?

Love,
Girl.

The Darcy Complex

You know why we think boys are useless? Do you know why we even bother to worry about whether they are or are not use-worthy?

Because you and I and every other girl we know has been brought up on a diet of romances and happy endings.

Stupid Prince Charming goes all over the world looking for a foot that fits, so all men must be as gallant. The same stupid Prince kisses Snow White (oh! what a big achievement) and hence all men must rescue us from exile, even if it is self-imposed or hormonal.

I read a Mills and Boon last week where this jock-cowboy oozing masculinity rapes, yes, rapes his lady love because he is convinced she is not a virgin. Lo and behold, she bleeds, he cries, he pleads, begs for mercy and she gladly thanks the good lord and takes him back!!!!!!

He rapes her!

But you know what shocked me even more, I read the bloody book right to it’s happy ending. Happy Ending. Shame on me. She married her rapist!

Men in MBs are rude, they are sarcastic, sadistic and they are always, always arrogant. They are always men who never call back, men who never take relationships seriously and men who never pay attention. And for all that, they atone with a promise of love and a forever-after marriage. 

Such fodder has been fed to us through various avatars of Mr Darcy and is so ingrained in our subconscious that our patterns of expectations from men mimic these ludicrous tales.

We are always attracted to Mr Darcy; the rude, obnoxious man with the estate (in high school he’d be the guy with the guitar) and we feel so lucky that he bestows his incredible love upon us, that we forgive being forgotten in exchange for being remembered once in a while.

Prince Charming, whose vocabulary extends from ‘Oh My’ to ‘Where’s my horse’ to ‘Will you marry me’ is undoubtedly the most boring guy in the world, but he slays dragons and jumps waterfalls and so must every prospective guy. As long as he can, once in a blue moon, sufficiently impress us, the man in our lives may be as useless as he likes.

Thanks to fairytale romances we expect him to be great, but those very notions allow us to forgive him his uselessness.

Prince Charming is inane, Mr Darcy is boring old sod… they are useless, as are our boys.

1.

A single woman has standards, but a single man is just pathetic.

- a one line contribution by May. She says this says more than enough!

I HATE ‘em!

One was quesy (refer to this if you want to know why).

So, one was quesy. One had consumed a lot of water in office. One had been to the loo a lot of times as well. One drank some more water. Sigh. One was then requested to join the others for a smoke in the staircase.

What followed was this…

Boy1: “Pythons? Did I hear someone say pythons?”

Boy2: “Dude! Pythons are cool!”

Boy3: “Pythons! Yeah, Pythons are the biggest snake. Other ones are just snakes”

Me: *Guffaw*

Boy1 & 2: *LOL*

Boy1: “Yeah man, that can swallow an entire human being!”

Me: *Don’t think about it!*

Boy2: “And I saw this photograph… Pythons crush the person, then swallow the person, and then the person slowly dissolves inside the python! So they cut up the python who had swallowed a deer and a human!”

Me: “Ewwww!”

Boy1 & 3: “You could see them! Wow! Really!?”

Boy2: *Enacts the pose the human was found in*

Me: “SHUT UP! Nooooo! Stop!”

Boy1: “So cool man! Also… it’s easier for them to swallow men na… Zebras or deers will be difficult…”

Boy2: “Yes, but…”

Boy1: “You can see the outline of whatever the python has swallowed. Its so…”

Me: “Gross! WILL YOU SHUT UP!”

Boy1,2&3: “Blah blah… dissolve… blah! Swallow whole… Blah… crush! So cool!”

Me: “I HATE BOYS! You are disgusting!”

Boy1,2 & 3: “What happened?”

Me: “I AM QUESYYY! I’ve been saying that over and over again. BLEH!”

Silence. Very soft sorries and GIGGLES! They giggled!

HMPH.

QUESY. Very.