A Series Of Unfortunate Events
"So why did you ask me out?"
Her eyes were on me as she asked me that question.I was staring at the ceiling as if it held within its self the essence of the Sistine chapel.A spider darted across the ceiling as if to suggest that I had intruded upon its privacy.
The jukebox moaned out a classic which was hardly discernable over the chatter of the daily crowd.I had a stinking suspicion that the jukebox was as old, if not older, than the song itself.
Her eyes were still on me; waiting for an answer.I finally looked at her as my fingers drummed over the surface of the table.I would have to answer her question unless there was a lightening strike, a sudden squall or a sudden squall accompanied by lightening strikes.I looked over her shoulder, through the window, and saw nothing but clear, blue skies.
Bah, where were the nasty little thunderbolts when you really needed then?
Alright, if not a squall and lightening strikes then leaky water sprinklers and a blown fuse would have to do.I close my eyes and open them; shirt is still dry and the lights are as bright as ever.Maybe I should just light a match and throw it over the wooden table and then try to douse the fire by flinging in some alcohol "mistaking" it for water.I doubt if that would work because the alcohol over here is just piss water.
Hmmm, I wonder what piss water does to fires.....
"Why are you smiling goofily looking down at your beer?"
Quick, say something witty.
"Ahhh, ummmm"
Say something.
"Errrr...."
Say anything.
"I just thought of that stupid ad; you know the McDowell's one?"
"What about that ad?", she asks me curiously.
"Well, you know; they have a punch line which goes "No.1, mera(my) no.1"."
"Go on...", she says, her interest rather piqued.
"Well, the punch line is, how should I put it, rather ironic.You have guys claiming it to be "mera no.1"; the drink looks suspiciously yellow and yet people continue to buy it...", I drawl as I gulp down my draught.
"Yuck; did you really have to tell me that right now while I was getting cozy with my glass of beer? Guys can be so disgusting sometimes...", she says rather venomously.
And as it was bound to happen, I let out a loud burp just as she finished with her statement.She looks at me, incredulous.Sensing that anything else I might say might lead to bodily harm, I just shrug my shoulders and pat my stomach.
She looks away fairly repulsed.
Great going buddy; not only do you suggest that what she is drinking maybe piss, you go on to reaffirm that most guys are pigs.If I succeed in repulsing her completely, she might actually become a nun.
Here I am serving God by flocking more girls to his Kingdom and he can't even send down a measly little thunderbolt.He can be so ungrateful at times.
"Can you pass me the ketchup please, Rohit?", she asks rather coolly.
I grab hold of the bottle and pretend to pass it over to her.She reaches over and grabs nothing but a wistful of air; a tiny smile dances on her lips.Yeah baby, damage control is in full flow.
I lob the ketchup bottle at her like a grenade; she catches hold of it and then there is blood all over.At first glance, it certainly seemed like blood.
Yikes!
I didn't know she would squeeze the ketchup bottle; it was a squeeze-me bottle.I can still picture the smile with which she caught it before she had ketchup all over her face.I didn't know if she was red with embarrassment or with rage.
I apologize to her profusely; dab little napkins at her face to wipe off the ketchup.And then, I opened my stupid mouth again.
"You know, if a doctor saw you right now; he would give you a clean chit and say that you are in the pink of health."
Humor didn't work for most the evening and it certainly didn't work then.
She looks at me with an absolute lack of expression, just as the waiter got us our bill, and asks me the same question again: Why did I ask her out again?
In hindsight, I should have given her a honest answer because she just stormed off on me.Coming back to the question she asked me, all I could think of, at the spur of the moment with the bill in my hand, was:
"I was dead broke and hungry; I thought you would have liked to buy me dinner."
Her eyes were on me as she asked me that question.I was staring at the ceiling as if it held within its self the essence of the Sistine chapel.A spider darted across the ceiling as if to suggest that I had intruded upon its privacy.
The jukebox moaned out a classic which was hardly discernable over the chatter of the daily crowd.I had a stinking suspicion that the jukebox was as old, if not older, than the song itself.
Her eyes were still on me; waiting for an answer.I finally looked at her as my fingers drummed over the surface of the table.I would have to answer her question unless there was a lightening strike, a sudden squall or a sudden squall accompanied by lightening strikes.I looked over her shoulder, through the window, and saw nothing but clear, blue skies.
Bah, where were the nasty little thunderbolts when you really needed then?
Alright, if not a squall and lightening strikes then leaky water sprinklers and a blown fuse would have to do.I close my eyes and open them; shirt is still dry and the lights are as bright as ever.Maybe I should just light a match and throw it over the wooden table and then try to douse the fire by flinging in some alcohol "mistaking" it for water.I doubt if that would work because the alcohol over here is just piss water.
Hmmm, I wonder what piss water does to fires.....
"Why are you smiling goofily looking down at your beer?"
Quick, say something witty.
"Ahhh, ummmm"
Say something.
"Errrr...."
Say anything.
"I just thought of that stupid ad; you know the McDowell's one?"
"What about that ad?", she asks me curiously.
"Well, you know; they have a punch line which goes "No.1, mera(my) no.1"."
"Go on...", she says, her interest rather piqued.
"Well, the punch line is, how should I put it, rather ironic.You have guys claiming it to be "mera no.1"; the drink looks suspiciously yellow and yet people continue to buy it...", I drawl as I gulp down my draught.
"Yuck; did you really have to tell me that right now while I was getting cozy with my glass of beer? Guys can be so disgusting sometimes...", she says rather venomously.
And as it was bound to happen, I let out a loud burp just as she finished with her statement.She looks at me, incredulous.Sensing that anything else I might say might lead to bodily harm, I just shrug my shoulders and pat my stomach.
She looks away fairly repulsed.
Great going buddy; not only do you suggest that what she is drinking maybe piss, you go on to reaffirm that most guys are pigs.If I succeed in repulsing her completely, she might actually become a nun.
Here I am serving God by flocking more girls to his Kingdom and he can't even send down a measly little thunderbolt.He can be so ungrateful at times.
"Can you pass me the ketchup please, Rohit?", she asks rather coolly.
I grab hold of the bottle and pretend to pass it over to her.She reaches over and grabs nothing but a wistful of air; a tiny smile dances on her lips.Yeah baby, damage control is in full flow.
I lob the ketchup bottle at her like a grenade; she catches hold of it and then there is blood all over.At first glance, it certainly seemed like blood.
Yikes!
I didn't know she would squeeze the ketchup bottle; it was a squeeze-me bottle.I can still picture the smile with which she caught it before she had ketchup all over her face.I didn't know if she was red with embarrassment or with rage.
I apologize to her profusely; dab little napkins at her face to wipe off the ketchup.And then, I opened my stupid mouth again.
"You know, if a doctor saw you right now; he would give you a clean chit and say that you are in the pink of health."
Humor didn't work for most the evening and it certainly didn't work then.
She looks at me with an absolute lack of expression, just as the waiter got us our bill, and asks me the same question again: Why did I ask her out again?
In hindsight, I should have given her a honest answer because she just stormed off on me.Coming back to the question she asked me, all I could think of, at the spur of the moment with the bill in my hand, was:
"I was dead broke and hungry; I thought you would have liked to buy me dinner."
This entry was posted
on Monday, April 25, 2005 at 12:56 AM.
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