...a month ago.
I won't delve into the details of how the day started, because I think that 'It was a bright, sunny day' has been used so many times that now people assume that it was a bright , sunny day unless you specify that it was not, in fact, a bright sunny day. Anyway, you get the point. In the shower, I wasted nearly ten minutes contemplating alternative and more exciting career choices, like becoming a hired killer, before the water got too cold for comfort. I had chocolate covered cornflakes for breakfast that day. I don't know why this is worth mentioning, or even why I remember it. I also remember my mother telling me to wear a scarf along with my white shirt and blue jeans, because I was looking so washed out in white. I know why I remember that, though.
So I left home equipped with a multi-hued scarf, infusing some colour into me. The daily life and death struggle on the streets of Bombay commenced, and I reached the railway station after risking serious injury four times, as usual. As I got on to the platform, the train started moving and I had to clamber onto a general compartment which was closest to me. It was then that I did something unusual, in that I almost fell off. Except I didn't. Somebody grabbed hold of my scarf and pulled me back onto the train. So after a very surreal fifteen second near death experience, I found a pair of fiercely wrathful black eyes looking at me. I've never been the recipient of such vehement emotion, so I was a little bemused for a minute. Then I calmed down sufficiently to notice that the eyes belonged to a face that was topped by a mop of passionately oiled hair. If you're wondering how passion is related to the application of hair oil, it has to do with the word 'drip'. Never mind. Anyway, the hair and the eyes went with a face that was small, round, brown and contorted with rage. I think he was even gnashing his teeth. I was just about to smile in amusement when THWAACK! It took me two whole seconds to realise that the little gnome like man had actually slapped me.
I have never really been angry, but at that moment all other rational thought was completely wiped out from my brain. My ears were buzzing. I wanted to claw his eyes out and subject him to unspeakable violence, but I settled for slapping him back with all my strength, fully geared up for a fight to the finish. But what I was not prepared for was to have that face crumple up and to have a grown man burst into tears and flop down to the floor of the compartment. Everyone else in the compartment started looking at me with accusatory eyes, while the unknown man kept crying, no, wailing at the top of his vocal range. My ears were pounding with the uncomfortable sound of embarrassment, and my face resembled an overly bashful beetroot. I sighed as the realization sank in that it was going to be a long, long day..
So much for Part Two. Apart from writing bad fiction, I also turned twenty four on Saturday. There was a lot of love, some beautiful presents (I'm a greedy pig, I adore gifts) and a lot of whining aboout how I was too broke to celebrate. There was also a lot of grief in my heart about how I am now utterly over the hill, to which the supersensitive 22 year old boyfriend had this pearl of wisdom to impart.
"Don't feel so bad. From now on, you must consider every passing second to be one step closer towards menopause."
Cheers! (The cheers are because I'm hoping that Skaty was spared similar pearls of wisdom. I could make a career out of optimism, couldn't I?)