I don’t like kids. I’m sorry. I don’t. Okay I’m not really sorry. But it sounds more politically correct to claim that I am. Not to say that I hate everyone who continues to (unceasingly) propagate their lineage. It’s your choice if you enjoy not being able to sleep for the next 18 years of your life. *shrug* But that’s another post. That maybe, one day, I’ll write when I don’t feel like being lynched by women everywhere. Couple of guys, too. Because really, who WANTS to be lynched? There’s a thin line between masochism and stupidity. Continue reading
As a kid, I had a mild crush on a certain girl that I lived next door to. And by ‘mild crush’ I mean ‘severe obsessive infatuation’. I’d sit on the porch and watch for her when she came home and sit by the window in the morning to see her get in the car and go to school – pathetically smitten was I. One day I mentioned this to a friend who was slightly older and he told me that I should tell her something. So, after weeks of procrastination and internal debate, I told her to meet me behind a certain building that was under construction nearby. Heart beating, palm sweaty, behind a building, I struggled to get the words out. ‘I….I mean…uh…I…’ Deep breath, try again. ‘I really….uh….I…’ OK, maybe you’re saying it wrong. Find another way to say it. ‘Uh…well…do you like me cause I think I like you.’ Finally!
She replied ‘Was that a question?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Then yeah, I guess I do.’
Oh joy. I grinned with 50 teeth, pushing my ears so high up, I’m sure they were touching over my head. Then she pulled a sobering darkness that put an end to my intoxicating moment in the sun.
‘So what now?’
This story surfaced from the recesses of my mind as I read the debate on marriage last week: riveting stuff. I abstained from commenting because I had had that conversation before. Many times. Continue reading
For those that might recall, the first topic in Form 1 Home Science is “Good Grooming.” So it was that our teacher walked into the class room one hot afternoon and asked “What is Good Grooming?” My hand shot up in the air, eager to make a statement that I was the brightest kid that side of the bunduz. Because I was seated at the front, a shortsighted Mrs. Karimi had no choice but to pick my hand to which I answered “It is the art of choosing a good husband.”
So maybe I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the yard and my mom would probably have abandoned me if she had heard my answer that day. And as the class went ahead to discuss matters hygiene, I pondered on how “grooming” and “groom” had no relation whatsoever. Moving on…
I Am Not Wife Material.
Which is what I told a guy who thought we could settle down, produce a few midgets and grow old together (#marriage: so overrated). The only way to continue reading this post is if you first agree that marriage is Continue reading
Is it a headdesk?—is it a facepalm?—is it a handcheek? Heck, I don’t know what it is this time. You decide.
– [Read Part 1]
I should have just walked out. Except I couldn’t. I was going crazy wondering how much crazier this bunch of people could get. I had to know. So I opened my mouth. Again.
‘But these men who beat up women…what exactly is their problem?’ I asked. Continue reading
Is it a headdesk? Is it a facepalm? Is it a handcheek? No, it’s just the sourest of grapes. Apparently.
So when, for some reason, I am feeling rather uninspired and I can’t think of anything decent to write about, I walk into the nearest semi-public space and say something most people in there won’t want to hear. Something that will get them pissed enough to offer to kill me, even. Pissed enough to, say, get my number from heaven-knows-where and send me texts like, ‘OK. I have Hepatitis B pellets and a guillotine. What will it be?’
Thus, I walked into the adjacent room, mouthed a few hellos, sat down and applied myself to the task of reading the youngest-looking magazine I could find. Or rather, I pretended to apply myself to the task of reading. After about five minutes, I abandoned the magazine, affected a facial expression (and body posture) of supreme boredom and then opened my mouth.
‘Marriage is sooo overrated. Women can be alone without being lonely. It is not unheard of.’
I might as well have said, ‘Cue system prompt. Open floodgate 1. I’m asking for it.’ Continue reading
I should win an award for orchestrating the most ad-hoc, haphazard survey to ever yield sensible results.
What happened was: 3
friends guys that I consider social butterflies and myself began assessing our married peers when a girl in the group said something to the effect of ‘all men who don’t cheat are already married.’ Much as those are our boys she was referring too, we disagreed. We developed a two parted theory and swore to test it. It states that:
1. That all our boys who’d been married more than a year were cheating.
2. They were still happy with their wives.
Now we set out to prove this ludicrous theory.