<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d7342259\x26blogName\x3dInsanely+Inane+Thoughts\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://isanelyinane.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://isanelyinane.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-8372961322722941038', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Insanely Inane Thoughts

If fate doesn't make you laugh, you just don't get the joke.

The Bet

Part I

“You can’t get her to sleep with you.”

Kya yaar, you have known be for so long and still you doubt me,” said Aryan, clutching at his chest as if he were mortally wounded. Praful punched his arm playfully as a shock of raven black hair fell across his face.

“I have a feeling that he is right this time around, Aryan,” confirmed Debashish as he studied the two of them with a bookish smile.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Aryan said as he contorted his face into a maelstrom of hurt and pain.

“Enough clowning, Aryan. She has been here for a week and she has talked to the others,” said Praful as he whipped his hair back over his head.

“Others?” asked Aryan as his brows furrowed inquiringly.

“You know, the girls from the office you slept with and then discarded like an ass-wiped tissue,” said Praful with slight distaste.

“The jilted lovers,” smiled Aryan.

“Don’t you think she would have upped her ante by now, Casanova?” asked Debashish, sarcasm dripping in his words like hot chocolate from an ice cream.

“Worry not, comrades. Where there is a girl, there is always a play to be made,” said Aryan, floundering his arms in theatrics.

“You are incorrigible, you know that,” said Debashish as he looked at Praful for support. Praful shrugged his shoulders in vain.

“As much as you are a stud, Debu. Alright, tell me when was the last time you had a girl sleep next to you?” asked Aryan as he winked at Praful. Praful looked a bit disconsolate as it made him seem like an accomplice but he was slightly relieved that Aryan hadn’t posed the question to him.

“Well, it’s surprising you should ask me that. I had the pleasure of sleeping in the company of two gorgeous ladies the other day and-“

“Just like old times, Debu, you cannot count the unfortunate dames who had the misfortune of being seated on either side of you on a plane ride,” said Aryan with a deadpan expression even as his eyes glowed with affection.

“I… never… why… you,” blustered Debashish with self-righteousness.

“Don’t froth like a rabid dog, Debu. Relax; you have to grasp an elementary fact. Just like I would trust you with anything that has to do with numbers and estimations; you have got to trust me when it comes to the ladies,” said Aryan with a disarming smile.

Debashish gave a wry smile, not sure of whether he had just been insulted or complimented.

“So you are saying that you will score with her?” asked Praful with interest.

“I am shocked that you even feel the need to phrase that as a question, Praful,” said Aryan mockingly.

“Are you willing to bet on it, Don Juan?” persisted Praful.

Aryan pretended to contemplate the question even as Debashish ticked off Praful for treating women as a commodity. It’s bad enough to have Aryan do it, he said with disdain.

“How much are you willing to part with, Praful?” asked Aryan as he shook his head at Debashish.

“Five thousand bucks,” said Praful with a smile.

“Be ready with it by Friday, Antonio. Or I will have a pound of thy flesh,” Aryan said with a flourish.

“So it’s a bet then, Shylock?”

“It’s a bet, chump.”

The day was monday.
« Home | Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »
| Next »

Content copyright protected by Copyscape website plagiarism search