Sometimes I do envy Carrie Bradshaw. The fact that she is a columnist is so cool. At least there's no one sitting on her head to approve of anything she writes or wants to write.
As if my work isn't enough, to add to my woes, my folks have sent me a picture of a guy. My father describes him as a "brilliant boy, tall and handsome" (E's right, my father almost seems like this guy's PR person). Now the previous two attributes might be true. On the last front, though I beg to differ. He's ok.
Am so scared. This is so not what I have ever thought of. E says a colleague of hers met more than 20 guys, before she liked one. Shit. What have I let myself in for? E in all her wisdom says I should look at it as a date. I can't even call it a blind date, after all am going into it with my eyes open.
If you have a good friend you don't need a mirror. So said my colleague NH today. Well, what immediately flashed into mind was the seven mirrors in our small apartment here. And the fact that before getting out of the house (it takes at least one hour), it's a compulsion to pose before every mirror. Back home in Calcutta, my dad finds it amusing. Each time we had to attend a wedding or a party, the spoken rule for me was to start preparing two hours ahead. Or there would be mayhem. It became a habit for my parents and brother to sit in the car and curse me.