Sunday, November 29, 2009
I wrote once that when I was little, my mother took me to a fortune teller to have my palm read. The Monk told my mother that I have flower power. I took to believe that I was irresistible to girls, I was wrong. He was wrong, the Monk.
The actual truth is that I am always outnumbered by girls, at times overwhelmingly outnumbered, like in my family. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, girls are some of my best friends.
It is just that the hormonal requirement in me behaving like a homing pigeon seeking the company of the “boys will be boys camaraderie” and the need to check against the benchmark of being a male specie.
As a matter of fact, I am enjoying myself in their company because through my close association with the ladies, I understood the male role in their domain and the behavioral consequence of their monthly stupor that I once wrote as the second worst thing about being the male in female world.
I also wrote that I have mastered the art of disappearance, during those trying period, of the ability to blend in with the furniture and the wisdom to be “seen not heard” and “heard not seen”
What I didn’t write was the worst thing about being the male in the female world and the taste buds acquiring the liking of the lady that male specie wouldn’t be caught dead with:- the love for Dom Perignon instead of Whisky, the craving for all things sour and sweet and worst, tidbits.
I love tidbits......all sort...sour....preserved...sweet...salty and more. ..
[ munching and sucking the deliciously sour preserved mango now ]
I took a detour to the wonderland of tidbits to do a short video clipping.