I'm so, so, so tired, dear readers. I worked and worked and worked all week long. And today, I even made a phone call, answered three e-mails, collected my pay cheque and wrote four 60 word reports, all by myself and didn't even get a byline for it. Reap the rewards of hard labour, my ass.
But that was not what has me so,so, so depressed, dear readers. Tookie and I have been in search of two things the last week -- One, people who will buy us kindles. Two, people who will marry us. While the former can be anyone, we agreed that by the virtue of necessity, the latter have to be boys.
That decided, even before Tookie said the word "k-i-n", Werewolf Singh, long time "friend" and fan who works in Amazon, no less, lent her his kindle until her happily married (to a rich investment banker) sister got her one from Dubai.
Needless to say, the second wasn't even a search to begin with. Being the uber-cool gujju bred tam-brahm tecchie that she is, she could have twenty different rakhi-ka-svayamvar type things going on for her.
Now, let's pan it back to me, dear reader.
No one offered to lend me their kindle, let alone buy me one. Smugface, true to our equation, said he will send me money to buy myself a chocolate. Amen offered to get me momos. And, blue shirt said he will get me bunny slippers! So, between how mad I was at smugface and how much I love momos and bunny slippers, I forgot all about the kindle, dear readers. But now that you think about it, isn't it so utterly sad? Doesn't your heart just bleed for me? *Flutters eyelashes* Don't you feel like following the link and adding one to the cart, and freely shipping it to me? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Okay, I suppose you don't. But its still sad, no?
But this, dear readers, is what got my goat. As much in demand as I usually am in the adulterers, perverts, creeps, voyeurs market; the demand seems, strangely enough, inversely proportionate to my matrimonial market value! How can it be? Why would any mother, other than my own obviously, not see me as perfect? I simply don't get it. But as all heroines of lore, I live with it. But now you see dear readers, why I've been so, so, so blue?
However, I stand resolved. Now, I have a new raison d etre. To make more loving friends and become more marriageable, is of course, what a less evolved mind like yours would have obviously concluded. And you would of course, be wrong.
My plan is, as always, almost lex luthoresque in its genius. What I have to do is simply turn into Tookie, snatch Werewolf Singh and elope with her intended. And, for that too I have a plan. If you must know, it will include vaguely cloning, rohypnol, makemytrip.com, hypnosis, a will, and a kindle.
It's not simply that I call myself brilliant, you know.