When Andy Murray was asked to say something to the audience in a post-match ceremony at the Australian Open earlier this year, he looked straight at the camera and said "Watch out. That Blue Shirt, he's...an alien."
I would have too, if Murray wasn't seven years too late.
That Blue Shirt got married today. Naturally, everyone who heard assumed I had died, if not of heartbreak then surely of jealousy, what with him having once been the great love of my life and everything. Assuredly, I did not. Die. Of heartbreak, jealously or any other emotional overdose. I'm fine. If you must know, I have no idea why.
My best guess is that despite my ardent attempts not to, somehow growing up happened.
And, since he very graciously ordered me NOT to come to his wedding, (as if he feared I'd go and threaten to jump into the nearest well if he didn't marry me instead of his intended) I had no choice but to oblige. Ergo, all he's going to get, instead of the awesome gift I would've got him (and everyone knows how awesome a gift giver I am) is this mention here.
There don't exist many people in the world whose happiness I'll put above my own. You have to be everything in my universe for that. For Blue Shirt I always have. And most likely, I always will.
So on this midsummer day. Him I wish, to find sense. And her, the sensibility not to kill him in the meantime. But for both, all the happiness in the world.
Yes, reader. It's still me. Don't let all the grace and touching prose confuse you. I can get like that sometimes.
And, while we are here, a special mention to the girls. Though all the incessant "how are you doing" calls and tubs of ice-cream were unnecessary and ultimately wasted, it was all still so much fun.
Jughead, you big bear, don't cry. Yes, but you liked Blue Shirt and he was "cute" and its "so sad" and "he's such an idiot to let me go." I promise I'll find a boy who's as cute and who you will like as much and who's not an idiot and then, you can marry him.
Harmony, for leaving your 28 degreed Bangalore breeze to come down to Fires of Doom that Hyderabad currently is. Even though you couldn't see or hear most of anything I said or did, we still had a ball.
Smurfette, your escapades with lungied men in Chidambaram cheered up me as nothing could have.
Samwise, if we didn't do our daily rants and discuss dirty dreams and dissect past, current and prospective love/lust lives, how would we possibly remain sane? Or ever write our books?
Cud, if it wasn't for you, crew-cuts and blond streaks, classroom smokes and terrace drinks would've been almost forgotten.
Aghori, for offering to take me along to zendom.
Amen, whose solution to the problem is to put a ring on it. To your question, yes, I like sapphires.
As for me, I now have hope. If Blue Shirt's able to convince a sane creature to have him for keeps, I'm not a lost cause after all.