Some things just don't change

For the nth time I watched Notting Hill. And it's amazing how that one line -- "I am just a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to love her" --never ceases to make me misty-eyed. The seasons changing as William Thacker walks down to his book shop, the park where June sat along with Joseph, Anna Scott signing an autograph saying, Dear Rufus you belong in jail, ...it's all so perfectly done. At the end of it I was sighing and messaging E. Predictably she was watching it too in her hotel room in Bombay. She finally called me and for the nth time we had this why-doesn't-it-happen-to-us conversation. E said she wouldn't mind a film star. "After all, when you are asking, ask for something big," she said before the line got disconnected.

The last few days have been a throwback to my crazy spending-the-night-on-the-porch-and-stair days in the previous two houses (I used to forget my keys regularly). The day before, I reached home early. Like really early. At 6.30 pm. I was so happy, I went and chatted with the owner of the Pop Tate's clone right opposite my place. It has fab sandwiches and its owner is a sweet old man with a curiously trimmed moustache. Now how do I describe it? It is white and is trimmed and levelled into a straight line much above his lips. So there is a broad expanse of skin between his lips and moustache. Frankly I have seen all kinds of moustaches - a lion moustache, a mouse moustache...but not one like his. Anyways after he had made me buy a packet of methi paras (somewhat like matthris), I reached home feeling happy for no reason.

Then I dug my hands inside my bag. My happiness vanished in a trice. I had no keys.

Frantically I called up S. The only solution we came up with was for me to go all the way to her office to collect the keys. Rare moments when I hate myself. By the time I returned home, it was almost 9. One nice evening wasted after what?
A key.

But I guess I have faced worse times. Like when I was in the first house and in my second job, I would frequently forget my key inside the house. So it was not an unusual sight for me to take the drop back to office at 1.30 at night. The drop organisers would look at me getting down from the car and smile, "Madam has forgotten her keys again?" Once I didn't even check my bag till after I reached the door and my colleague had dropped me following an office party. So on a very brrr winter's night, a very drunk me was sitting on the stairs dying to pee and get under the covers of a warm bed. That morning I saw the right hand side neighbour's waking up habits. He would get up at 5 in the morning, do some yoga stretches and burp loudly.

The other time E returned from office to find me walking in the park at 2 am. It was not a very wise thing to do I know. But did I have any choice besides sitting on the stairs and die of mosquitoe bites?
No.

I have tried to come up with ingenuous ways of never forgetting the key. Like putting it into a chain around my neck. Somehow it has not worked till now. Think will have to give it a shot. Sigh.