Remember when you were 7 and splashed some paint on a huge piece of paper and cliamed it to be a masterpiece? Your mom put it up on the fridge and foresaw pure talent in you, while your sister guffawed and said you'd be useless? But you didn't care.. You continued to paint and finally became an excel sheet mugging analyst. No, didn't happen to you? What about the time you made a complicated sand castle on your annual beach vacation and your dad claimed you'd be an architect some day and you persevered from then on, only to grow up to sell diapers in Bihar? That didn't happen either? Lucky, you!
Well, it didnt happen to me either. But the reason behind that isn't that i followed my dreams and became what I wanted. It's because I never quite figured out what i was good at. I could sing a bit (until my sis shouted at me to stop), I could dance quite some (but my mom convinced me that's no future to pursue), I could write (but I give it up in breaks), I could play quite a few sports (but I succumb under the slightest pressure), I could speak (didn't get me anywhere other than a few GDs), but I didnt have any real talent. And so I followed my true calling.. and became a fin ghissu. I can still tally any balance sheet, given a few free hours!
But the point behind all this rambling, is that I don't remember a single memory of accomplishment from my childhood. This might be because my parents were slightly cynical about most things. But still, I can't remember a single instance of my folks nodding their head, their lips drawn in and patting me on my back.
Until recently..
It was a few weeks ago, when I stood back and stared at my achievement, amazed at the time, patience and energy that had gone into it. Awed by own sense of judgement and the symmetry with which everything had fallen into place and blended so well. I looked up at my partner in crime and I could see he shared the feeling too. We had done it. Our Channa Masala was perfect. True, that night we felt too tired after that effort to make rotis, so we stored the dish overnight and we pushed ourselves to make some rotis the nexy day. But still, it was fantastic. Over time, several other scapegoats have tried our cooking.. family, friends, innocent batchmates, scared juniors. I couldn't really read through all their contrived facial expressions, but I'll take them as compliments. Thank you, every one of you. Please feel free to take your seat while you applaud!
Ah, when your chapati comes up to a perfect *cough* oval *cough*, when your curry turns deep red, when your idlis don't stick to your fingers, when your chutney doesn't lack taste.. Pure bliss. It makes me so proud that I even cry sometimes, but that's only when I chop onions. And when we sit down for dinner at the end of it all, we tell ourselves that we might still be hungry after the meal, but so what! It's still our meal. It's made out of the tomatoes we squished with our own hands, the salt we sprinkled with our very own fingers, spices sent across by our own mothers. It's still our meal.
Life, as always, throws the most pleasant surprises, when you least expect it.
That's why it's called a surprise, by the way.
Note to reader: Do not consider the text above as an invitation to dine at our place. We're not into that kind of socialising.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
What I need
Today was one of those days when I've looked long and hard at my computer screen, the political map of Europe on my notice board, the tree outside my window, a boring company's annual report and the TV screen. I alternated between all of these to ensure no one at office would think I'm sleeping with my eyes open. The conclusion? I need a vacation.
The past 6 months of my life have been ridiculous. I had to handle myself acting nuts about getting married to the love of my life. So many stupid decisions, harsh words, regrets. I ensured in every way possible not to enjoy the wedding, my parents helped me along the way. After that, when I heard office junta speculating about my impending drop in interest at work due to the change in my marital status, I overworked to prove them wrong. I went to work 3 days after the wedding. I went to London for a month and worked an average 15 hours a day. Additionally, I somehow lost control of myself. I ate and fed my boyfriend (yes, I still call him my boyfriend) quite a few low quality meals. We ate a lot more junk, I stopped working out, I returned my bike to my parents, I called up fewer friends. I haven't even been able to finish reading a book and of course, I don't write any more. I just don't write.
It's not that I'm unhappy. I love my new life.. It's fantastic, I've never felt better. But with the change, I gave up everything good about my pre-marriage life too. (When I feel guilty about having a piece of chocolate, I know I've been a slob.)
I need a change, I need a vacation. I need to be around people, in a different place. And I want to play mafia. I want to ride down a scenic highway, I want to have road-side tea. I want my phone to be unreachable, my blackberry to be untouched. I want to scream out bollywood songs, while I'm riding a bike real fast. I want to get drenched in the rain. I need a vacation.
Next post, immediately after I return.
The past 6 months of my life have been ridiculous. I had to handle myself acting nuts about getting married to the love of my life. So many stupid decisions, harsh words, regrets. I ensured in every way possible not to enjoy the wedding, my parents helped me along the way. After that, when I heard office junta speculating about my impending drop in interest at work due to the change in my marital status, I overworked to prove them wrong. I went to work 3 days after the wedding. I went to London for a month and worked an average 15 hours a day. Additionally, I somehow lost control of myself. I ate and fed my boyfriend (yes, I still call him my boyfriend) quite a few low quality meals. We ate a lot more junk, I stopped working out, I returned my bike to my parents, I called up fewer friends. I haven't even been able to finish reading a book and of course, I don't write any more. I just don't write.
It's not that I'm unhappy. I love my new life.. It's fantastic, I've never felt better. But with the change, I gave up everything good about my pre-marriage life too. (When I feel guilty about having a piece of chocolate, I know I've been a slob.)
I need a change, I need a vacation. I need to be around people, in a different place. And I want to play mafia. I want to ride down a scenic highway, I want to have road-side tea. I want my phone to be unreachable, my blackberry to be untouched. I want to scream out bollywood songs, while I'm riding a bike real fast. I want to get drenched in the rain. I need a vacation.
Next post, immediately after I return.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
It's here
So it's finally happening. I did my very best to run away, to get over it, to deny it, to escape it, to accept it... nothing worked. I'm getting married in a week. And this is my last post as a single girl. Ah! Life is going to change.
I have wanted to write a lot of stuff over the past two months, but every post eventually ended with me talking about the wedding. So I stopped. It's a happy thing, there should be nothing negative on print. Right?
Anyway, as an update to nothing... I found a new place to shift into, I've packed up all my stuff, I've bought new things to fill up our new home and I'm already worried about financing a married life and cooking and waking up on my own and washing the clothes and.. the list goes on. I have no idea how I'm going to manage all this. Anyway, for now single Su is waving goodbye!
She'll be back with a vengeance.
I have wanted to write a lot of stuff over the past two months, but every post eventually ended with me talking about the wedding. So I stopped. It's a happy thing, there should be nothing negative on print. Right?
Anyway, as an update to nothing... I found a new place to shift into, I've packed up all my stuff, I've bought new things to fill up our new home and I'm already worried about financing a married life and cooking and waking up on my own and washing the clothes and.. the list goes on. I have no idea how I'm going to manage all this. Anyway, for now single Su is waving goodbye!
She'll be back with a vengeance.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Cold feet
Things running in my head as of now:
The Pros of getting married
1. I’ll never have to wake up alone.
2. I’ll finally get out of my parents’ house.
3. That’ll be the end of lonely weekends.
4. I’ll have the best company to watch sitcoms with. (who else would sing theme songs aloud)
5. My social life will improve radically.
6. There’ll be a drastic drop in phone bills.
The Cons of getting married
1. I’ll have to start cooking soon.
2. I’ll have to find some girl friends.
3. I can never act on my crushes any more.
4. People around me will definitely start treating me differently.
5. I can no longer make fun of people who are older than me.
6. I might have to change my name.
7. I will never fall in love again.
8. House rent/ maid salary/ lunch at office etc. - lesser money in the bank.
Things I can’t classify yet
1. I’ll be married.
2. I’ll be married.
3. I’ll be married.
Either time should stop now. And I should continue living my single life till I’m sick of it. Or the next two months should race by, so that I get done with these stupid thoughts.
The Pros of getting married
1. I’ll never have to wake up alone.
2. I’ll finally get out of my parents’ house.
3. That’ll be the end of lonely weekends.
4. I’ll have the best company to watch sitcoms with. (who else would sing theme songs aloud)
5. My social life will improve radically.
6. There’ll be a drastic drop in phone bills.
The Cons of getting married
1. I’ll have to start cooking soon.
2. I’ll have to find some girl friends.
3. I can never act on my crushes any more.
4. People around me will definitely start treating me differently.
5. I can no longer make fun of people who are older than me.
6. I might have to change my name.
7. I will never fall in love again.
8. House rent/ maid salary/ lunch at office etc. - lesser money in the bank.
Things I can’t classify yet
1. I’ll be married.
2. I’ll be married.
3. I’ll be married.
Either time should stop now. And I should continue living my single life till I’m sick of it. Or the next two months should race by, so that I get done with these stupid thoughts.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Shoppers, stop! Please!
I stepped into the big hall. I thought I would be prepared for the sight in front of me, but I clearly wasn’t. I took a deep breath, before I took a further step.
“You can’t escape this”, I was told. I pleaded with my eyes. But to no avail.
“We’ve come a long way for this. So get it done with”, she said.
“But Ma, do I really have to be there for saree shopping?”
Unfortunately, the answer to that was a resounding “Yes!” and there was indeed no escaping. The start to 3 days of shopping torture… the beginning of extremely painful wedding preparations.
So, I’m getting married in 4 months. I’ve had my share of frozen feet and I recovered (hopefully). And I presumed it would fun and games from now on. But I was as mistaken as John Thain was, when he assumed he could get away with a $35,000 commode. My folks and his folks planned an elaborate trip to Chennai, converging from Bangalore and Mumbai in search of… Sarees! And we landed in the famed T-nagar area on a pleasant Saturday morning, loaded with pockets full of hard-earned cash and a bucket full of patience.
We started with shopping for the boyfriend. We spent 4 minutes and 700 bucks on a long white piece of cloth and he was done. For the rest of the day, he was sitting in a corner of the shop, playing Tetris on his phone. The lucky *bleep*! I, on the other hand, was dragged to every saree counter possible and mind you, they were endless. Each counter classified according to price range, borders, designs, places of origin, gender of the weaver and the colour of mulberry leaves that were fed to the poor silk worms which were eventually sacrificed for the pretty looking garment.
A typical conversation that took place at a given counter, with a highly enthu salesman went something like this:
SM: So, What kind of sarees are you looking for, Madam? (in pure Tamil)
Me: Pattu Podavai (Wedding sarees. I learnt that myself!)
SM: (Pleased) Oh! What range, madam?
Me: 3000-4000.
Mom: What nonsense! Show us sarees above 7000.
Me: MA! That’s a lot of money!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
SM: All these modern day girls, tch tch! What colour I shall show you madam?
Mom: Maroon/Red/Bottle green… temple border.. double-side.. pure zari.. blah blah blah!
(After like 20 mins )
Mom: Here you go.
Me: I’m never going to wear this!!!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: If it’s my wedding, let me choose my own saree!
Mom: You just did. And a good choice! Let’s go to that counter over there.
Me: Shrikant!!!
Shrik: Ouch! Just missed the top score.
After 3 hours and 3 sarees, we took a break for lunch and headed to another saree shop. Another after that. I managed to escape with Shrik for some Watermelon juice in between, but was immediately called back on the cell phone. I never understood why though. It wasn’t like my opinion counted at all! Every time, I was asked what I thought of a saree and was shooed away when I gave my opinion. And when we were finally done, we headed to a jewelers store. And the torture was so unbearable that even Shrikant took time off his Tetris game to comfort me once in a while.
In front of an array of necklaces:
Me: Ma. I like this one.
Mom: No. What about this one?
Me: No way! I hate it.
Mom: You’re supposed to like it. It’ll look nice on you.
Me: I don’t like it.
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: Shrikant!!
Mom: (wrapping up her pick) There. Good choice.
Shrikant: Tch tch.
Fortunately we were spared of this routine for the next two days and our folks shopped in peace. At the end of the weekend though, my parents ran up a bill close to what John Thain did in the end of 2007. Recessionary times, my frozen foot! I questioned the worthiness of the purchases. Was a one-time-wear saree really worth 5-figures? And I got the expected answer.
“It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!”
At the railway station that night, looking at the enormous amount of luggage we were carrying back to Bangalore, a coolie quoted 200 bucks to help us out. My parents were alarmed. 200 bucks! For carrying luggage! Apparently this time, it wasn’t worth it. Being the youngest and the fittest, I carried back most of the stuff by myself.
A day later, with excruciating shoulder pain, I realized it was my wedding, after all. I just wish my parents would let me enjoy it.
“You can’t escape this”, I was told. I pleaded with my eyes. But to no avail.
“We’ve come a long way for this. So get it done with”, she said.
“But Ma, do I really have to be there for saree shopping?”
Unfortunately, the answer to that was a resounding “Yes!” and there was indeed no escaping. The start to 3 days of shopping torture… the beginning of extremely painful wedding preparations.
So, I’m getting married in 4 months. I’ve had my share of frozen feet and I recovered (hopefully). And I presumed it would fun and games from now on. But I was as mistaken as John Thain was, when he assumed he could get away with a $35,000 commode. My folks and his folks planned an elaborate trip to Chennai, converging from Bangalore and Mumbai in search of… Sarees! And we landed in the famed T-nagar area on a pleasant Saturday morning, loaded with pockets full of hard-earned cash and a bucket full of patience.
We started with shopping for the boyfriend. We spent 4 minutes and 700 bucks on a long white piece of cloth and he was done. For the rest of the day, he was sitting in a corner of the shop, playing Tetris on his phone. The lucky *bleep*! I, on the other hand, was dragged to every saree counter possible and mind you, they were endless. Each counter classified according to price range, borders, designs, places of origin, gender of the weaver and the colour of mulberry leaves that were fed to the poor silk worms which were eventually sacrificed for the pretty looking garment.
A typical conversation that took place at a given counter, with a highly enthu salesman went something like this:
SM: So, What kind of sarees are you looking for, Madam? (in pure Tamil)
Me: Pattu Podavai (Wedding sarees. I learnt that myself!)
SM: (Pleased) Oh! What range, madam?
Me: 3000-4000.
Mom: What nonsense! Show us sarees above 7000.
Me: MA! That’s a lot of money!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
SM: All these modern day girls, tch tch! What colour I shall show you madam?
Mom: Maroon/Red/Bottle green… temple border.. double-side.. pure zari.. blah blah blah!
(After like 20 mins )
Mom: Here you go.
Me: I’m never going to wear this!!!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: If it’s my wedding, let me choose my own saree!
Mom: You just did. And a good choice! Let’s go to that counter over there.
Me: Shrikant!!!
Shrik: Ouch! Just missed the top score.
After 3 hours and 3 sarees, we took a break for lunch and headed to another saree shop. Another after that. I managed to escape with Shrik for some Watermelon juice in between, but was immediately called back on the cell phone. I never understood why though. It wasn’t like my opinion counted at all! Every time, I was asked what I thought of a saree and was shooed away when I gave my opinion. And when we were finally done, we headed to a jewelers store. And the torture was so unbearable that even Shrikant took time off his Tetris game to comfort me once in a while.
In front of an array of necklaces:
Me: Ma. I like this one.
Mom: No. What about this one?
Me: No way! I hate it.
Mom: You’re supposed to like it. It’ll look nice on you.
Me: I don’t like it.
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: Shrikant!!
Mom: (wrapping up her pick) There. Good choice.
Shrikant: Tch tch.
Fortunately we were spared of this routine for the next two days and our folks shopped in peace. At the end of the weekend though, my parents ran up a bill close to what John Thain did in the end of 2007. Recessionary times, my frozen foot! I questioned the worthiness of the purchases. Was a one-time-wear saree really worth 5-figures? And I got the expected answer.
“It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!”
At the railway station that night, looking at the enormous amount of luggage we were carrying back to Bangalore, a coolie quoted 200 bucks to help us out. My parents were alarmed. 200 bucks! For carrying luggage! Apparently this time, it wasn’t worth it. Being the youngest and the fittest, I carried back most of the stuff by myself.
A day later, with excruciating shoulder pain, I realized it was my wedding, after all. I just wish my parents would let me enjoy it.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
You drive me crazy!
And we're back to that time of the year again.. The FM stations are playing their best of 2008 songs, music channels are playing the best episodes of their reality shows, the city is abuzz with New Year parties thoughtfully named Temptation Island, Exotica, Hollywood Fiesta and so on. So, in keeping with the long long tradition of this blog, here's my annual list for this year. I hope it is as pointless and dull as the previous one.
The bottom 5 ways to impress a girl on the road:
1. Using one's helmet as a giant bangle on the hand, instead of protecting one's teeny head
2. Assuming that fellow riders are blind/deaf/dumb and hence honking as soon soon as the signal turns green, even if one is a mile away
3. Adjusting one's rear view mirror at a signal to get a better look at the girl on the black activa waiting behind
4. Thump thump thump!! Loud music blaring out of one's car with the bass turned up specifically
5. Using one hand to drive irritatingly slow, while the other one is busy holding the phone to one's head
Attention! Homosapiens of the male variety!
Gone are the days when having a vehicle meant you were the town's hero. Gone are the days when girls swooned when you revved your noisy bikes. And gone are the days when girls remained fascinated with the art of driving. In these trying times, everyone has a vehicle and everyone wants to get home.. calm and quick! So stop behaving like you own the place, because you don't. You are just another inconvenince that we need to ignore on our way back. You're not the only ones with horns and music systems! And being loud will not help you score! You're not the only one with mobile phones either, my 50-year old vegetable vendor has one too. If you really need to show off, get a wireless handset and talk your way to glory. But, if you think wearing a helmet would make you look 'uncool', you're probably right anyway.. You would look a lot better without that head.
The Secret Hot Girls on the Road Club has decided that morons who commit the above sins are.. well, morons! So stop! Personally, I'd be very impressed with a guy who rides/drives smart and safe. So get back into those helmets, get back some patience and drive safe. And the girls will follow...
A Merry Christmas to you and a Happy Happy New Year! May 2009 get you better bonuses, lower real estate prices and safer jobs!
See you in '09, porcupine!
The bottom 5 ways to impress a girl on the road:
1. Using one's helmet as a giant bangle on the hand, instead of protecting one's teeny head
2. Assuming that fellow riders are blind/deaf/dumb and hence honking as soon soon as the signal turns green, even if one is a mile away
3. Adjusting one's rear view mirror at a signal to get a better look at the girl on the black activa waiting behind
4. Thump thump thump!! Loud music blaring out of one's car with the bass turned up specifically
5. Using one hand to drive irritatingly slow, while the other one is busy holding the phone to one's head
Attention! Homosapiens of the male variety!
Gone are the days when having a vehicle meant you were the town's hero. Gone are the days when girls swooned when you revved your noisy bikes. And gone are the days when girls remained fascinated with the art of driving. In these trying times, everyone has a vehicle and everyone wants to get home.. calm and quick! So stop behaving like you own the place, because you don't. You are just another inconvenince that we need to ignore on our way back. You're not the only ones with horns and music systems! And being loud will not help you score! You're not the only one with mobile phones either, my 50-year old vegetable vendor has one too. If you really need to show off, get a wireless handset and talk your way to glory. But, if you think wearing a helmet would make you look 'uncool', you're probably right anyway.. You would look a lot better without that head.
The Secret Hot Girls on the Road Club has decided that morons who commit the above sins are.. well, morons! So stop! Personally, I'd be very impressed with a guy who rides/drives smart and safe. So get back into those helmets, get back some patience and drive safe. And the girls will follow...
A Merry Christmas to you and a Happy Happy New Year! May 2009 get you better bonuses, lower real estate prices and safer jobs!
See you in '09, porcupine!
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Head over Heels
At 5 feet and 8 inches above the ground, I'm reasonably tall and proud of it. My height has always defined who I am… in a lot of ways. Years ago, when we posed for a family photograph, I stood out (my folks are 5"4 and below). The photographer kept wondering where to put me and since then, I've always been standing at the back for all snaps, grimacing. I learnt how to ride a bike, I went on to play badminton, basketball and I refused to ever wear heels. All as a result of how tall I was... Defining me as an athlete, a tomboy, as the ugly ducking of the family. Except for my mom's occasional tantrums about how this would wipe out half of my consideration set for eligible men to marry, I'm glad about how I am. Still am.
But a couple of weeks ago, I did something stupid. I went and bought myself a pair of heels. My first pair ever! (weep, weep) I still don't get the logic behind my purchase. Why would I buy myself a stunning pair of 2-inch heels (yes girls, just 2 inches, baby steps for me, extremely-difficult-to-get pun intended), when I could get myself two pairs of normal comfortable footwear that I could wear on a daily basis for the same price? I don't know. Why would my boyfriend, who is the same height as I am, convince me to buy these heels, at the risk of looking shorter? I don't know. But I went through with it and was terribly excited as I brought my new shoes home. For the next two weeks, the box just sat there, unopened. I debated every morning if I should wear them to work, but I kept putting it off. Finally, when my mom started her sermon on how money has corrupted me, inducing me to buy unnecessary things, I wore them to work last week.
I wobbled to my desk, hoping that no one would notice. No one did. It was too early in the morning, I figured. And I was right. An hour later, when I got up to get some water, people sitting around looked at me with obvious curiousity, there was something different about Sumana today. I walked up to the water cooler, cursing the 'clickety-clack clickety-clack' blaring off my feet, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. But I did. Some chaps who were standing around discussing the stock market clash, suddenly all turned towards me. Hey, look! A giraffe in the department! Yes, I can read minds. I reached the water cooler and realized it was too low for me. I fidgeted for a minute, more heads turned. I then spilt some water, some people even got up to watch. I drank up what I had and walked back to my desk. My bay was more silent than usual. And then life went on…
… for a while. When we left for lunch, everyone was in a hurry as usual. I struggled to catch up, the guys looked at me incredulously. The women showed some sympathy. After lunch, I lost the rare foosball game to a couple of rookies. This was the heights! (I'm bad with this pun thing). I limped back to my desk, wondering why I ever bought myself these evil shoes.The view from up there was no different. All day long, I walked around like the floor was covered with broken glass. Careful, focussed and with a painful look on my face. I was being a girl! And I hated it!
When I finally got off work, I wasn't sure who was more relieved, my shoes or me! I went home and replaced the shoes in their box, staring at them for a while. I decided to not wear them again till I absolutely had to. I shut the box, locked it up inside.
But this morning I felt different. I thought about it. My heels made me a head-turner, I made people around me go speechless, I was for a while the centre of attention… why shouldn't I wear them more often? So, the shoes came out of the closet. And here I am, all heeled up! Today has been exactly the same as last week. I sit here, refusing to get up from my seat, to avoid the clickety-clack, and instead passing time by writing about it. But, somewhere in the corner of my head, this feels nice!
I like my shoes. I think I'm finally growing up.
Damn!
But a couple of weeks ago, I did something stupid. I went and bought myself a pair of heels. My first pair ever! (weep, weep) I still don't get the logic behind my purchase. Why would I buy myself a stunning pair of 2-inch heels (yes girls, just 2 inches, baby steps for me, extremely-difficult-to-get pun intended), when I could get myself two pairs of normal comfortable footwear that I could wear on a daily basis for the same price? I don't know. Why would my boyfriend, who is the same height as I am, convince me to buy these heels, at the risk of looking shorter? I don't know. But I went through with it and was terribly excited as I brought my new shoes home. For the next two weeks, the box just sat there, unopened. I debated every morning if I should wear them to work, but I kept putting it off. Finally, when my mom started her sermon on how money has corrupted me, inducing me to buy unnecessary things, I wore them to work last week.
I wobbled to my desk, hoping that no one would notice. No one did. It was too early in the morning, I figured. And I was right. An hour later, when I got up to get some water, people sitting around looked at me with obvious curiousity, there was something different about Sumana today. I walked up to the water cooler, cursing the 'clickety-clack clickety-clack' blaring off my feet, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. But I did. Some chaps who were standing around discussing the stock market clash, suddenly all turned towards me. Hey, look! A giraffe in the department! Yes, I can read minds. I reached the water cooler and realized it was too low for me. I fidgeted for a minute, more heads turned. I then spilt some water, some people even got up to watch. I drank up what I had and walked back to my desk. My bay was more silent than usual. And then life went on…
… for a while. When we left for lunch, everyone was in a hurry as usual. I struggled to catch up, the guys looked at me incredulously. The women showed some sympathy. After lunch, I lost the rare foosball game to a couple of rookies. This was the heights! (I'm bad with this pun thing). I limped back to my desk, wondering why I ever bought myself these evil shoes.The view from up there was no different. All day long, I walked around like the floor was covered with broken glass. Careful, focussed and with a painful look on my face. I was being a girl! And I hated it!
When I finally got off work, I wasn't sure who was more relieved, my shoes or me! I went home and replaced the shoes in their box, staring at them for a while. I decided to not wear them again till I absolutely had to. I shut the box, locked it up inside.
But this morning I felt different. I thought about it. My heels made me a head-turner, I made people around me go speechless, I was for a while the centre of attention… why shouldn't I wear them more often? So, the shoes came out of the closet. And here I am, all heeled up! Today has been exactly the same as last week. I sit here, refusing to get up from my seat, to avoid the clickety-clack, and instead passing time by writing about it. But, somewhere in the corner of my head, this feels nice!
I like my shoes. I think I'm finally growing up.
Damn!
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