Nothing really – Go fish!
The other fish at the pool were giving me snotty looks and it took me a while to figure out why. My pretence at hibernation was apparently assaulting their delicate sense of sight. Reluctantly, I head to the preening arena otherwise called the beauty parlor in common parlance, to shed the additional plumage.
I utter but a mere whimper when the waxing lady there gives me a sharp look and barks “Control! Quiet down. It’s not like it’s your first time” and continues to happily try and part my body (or rather my epidermis) from soul. Of course not lady, you should have heard me when my waxing virginity was taken. The thousand tiny points of tingling unbearable pain had me change the atmosphere from a swank up market place to a Nazi torture chamber in minutes.
“Hindi?” she growls after a few minutes of caustic silence. I am still indignant, but relent (just a wee bit) and answer, “Illa, Kannada”. Her rigid face eases out a few of what I mistakenly took to be wrinkles but which actually turn out to be bunched up skin in its effort to bear semblance to a frown. “Oh I thought you were Hindi,” she says. “Illa Kannada”, once again I assert, this time pleasantly.
Now I don’t know if I have to be offended or pleased. Pleased at her pro-south Indian attitude or offended that she took me to be one of those you know who. Oh hell! At least now she won’t pretend at leech anymore and try and bleed me to death. I go along and play the let’s be as many languages as possible today game with her. “Tamil?” for the heck of it, I disinterestedly question. “Telugu,” she answers. I quickly switch to being cities. “Me Hyderabad,” I nod matter of factly. Geez! didn’t expect this to go so good. “Me Hyderabad too,” she gleefully confirms.
This was fun. I switch back to language. “Actually at home Tamil” (a literal translation of what I said to her in Kannada) I try. Alas the follicular expert didn’t take too kindly to this back and forth banter and turned back into leech monster. And not such an expert either. Drip! Drip! Horrified eyes watch in morbid fascination two large drops of iron rich make their - suspended in time for eons, but inevitable and fatal- descent towards terra-firma. Two seconds later, delayed reaction sets in. Screams rent the air in a freaky déjà vu. I feel like a born again waxing virgin.
The other fish at the pool were giving me snotty looks and it took me a while to figure out why. My pretence at hibernation was apparently assaulting their delicate sense of sight. Reluctantly, I head to the preening arena otherwise called the beauty parlor in common parlance, to shed the additional plumage.
I utter but a mere whimper when the waxing lady there gives me a sharp look and barks “Control! Quiet down. It’s not like it’s your first time” and continues to happily try and part my body (or rather my epidermis) from soul. Of course not lady, you should have heard me when my waxing virginity was taken. The thousand tiny points of tingling unbearable pain had me change the atmosphere from a swank up market place to a Nazi torture chamber in minutes.
“Hindi?” she growls after a few minutes of caustic silence. I am still indignant, but relent (just a wee bit) and answer, “Illa, Kannada”. Her rigid face eases out a few of what I mistakenly took to be wrinkles but which actually turn out to be bunched up skin in its effort to bear semblance to a frown. “Oh I thought you were Hindi,” she says. “Illa Kannada”, once again I assert, this time pleasantly.
Now I don’t know if I have to be offended or pleased. Pleased at her pro-south Indian attitude or offended that she took me to be one of those you know who. Oh hell! At least now she won’t pretend at leech anymore and try and bleed me to death. I go along and play the let’s be as many languages as possible today game with her. “Tamil?” for the heck of it, I disinterestedly question. “Telugu,” she answers. I quickly switch to being cities. “Me Hyderabad,” I nod matter of factly. Geez! didn’t expect this to go so good. “Me Hyderabad too,” she gleefully confirms.
This was fun. I switch back to language. “Actually at home Tamil” (a literal translation of what I said to her in Kannada) I try. Alas the follicular expert didn’t take too kindly to this back and forth banter and turned back into leech monster. And not such an expert either. Drip! Drip! Horrified eyes watch in morbid fascination two large drops of iron rich make their - suspended in time for eons, but inevitable and fatal- descent towards terra-firma. Two seconds later, delayed reaction sets in. Screams rent the air in a freaky déjà vu. I feel like a born again waxing virgin.
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