Putting up another post so soon is so out of character for me but I really had no choice, I had to write this. If you have read the previous one then by end of this one you will totally understand the sentiment.
I am back from a surprise pre-21st birthday party my friends gave me at 'Candies', Bandra. I have just taken out all my gifts and gushed over them in front of everyone at home and the stupid, happy smile that I can feel on my face must be wide enough to give the Cheshire cat and inferiority complex, I am purely, blissfully happy.
I should actually be a little sad because today I realised that one of my childhood ambitions is totally out of the window. I maybe somewhat of a local authority on detective fiction and flicks, but a sleuth I am not. I am not only absent minded but also practically dumb at deciphering little clues. It is no wonder that when B crept up behind me and closed my eyes, my brain told the little voice in my heart to shut-up and be reasonable, "How can B be here?"
Instead it doesn't matter. Ok, I am not James Bond or Sherlock Holmes or Dalgliesh or even one of the Famous Five but I am so much more. I am ME. The one whose friends planned a surprise for her 20 days before the exams, whose friends remembered that what she loves more than books is buying them whimsically, whose friends were (or pretended to be) not embarrassed when she did Hawaian dance in the middle of a restaurant and who only remembers hearing someone scream "Take a pic, Take a pic" while she stared open mouthed at a voucher for Landmark.
International spies may have a lot of cool gadgets but they they won't have friends like Ariel who get lost trying to reach the party venue and still come. Definitely not memories of telling Nemo that she needs a wildlife photographer to take a flattering snap of a jittery one like her. No one makes them humongous cards telling them 21 reasons for loving them and tries to make it smell like lavender even if all they get get for their trouble be "I smell only glue."
So I say "Mr. detective, up yours!!"
I am back from a surprise pre-21st birthday party my friends gave me at 'Candies', Bandra. I have just taken out all my gifts and gushed over them in front of everyone at home and the stupid, happy smile that I can feel on my face must be wide enough to give the Cheshire cat and inferiority complex, I am purely, blissfully happy.
I should actually be a little sad because today I realised that one of my childhood ambitions is totally out of the window. I maybe somewhat of a local authority on detective fiction and flicks, but a sleuth I am not. I am not only absent minded but also practically dumb at deciphering little clues. It is no wonder that when B crept up behind me and closed my eyes, my brain told the little voice in my heart to shut-up and be reasonable, "How can B be here?"
Instead it doesn't matter. Ok, I am not James Bond or Sherlock Holmes or Dalgliesh or even one of the Famous Five but I am so much more. I am ME. The one whose friends planned a surprise for her 20 days before the exams, whose friends remembered that what she loves more than books is buying them whimsically, whose friends were (or pretended to be) not embarrassed when she did Hawaian dance in the middle of a restaurant and who only remembers hearing someone scream "Take a pic, Take a pic" while she stared open mouthed at a voucher for Landmark.
International spies may have a lot of cool gadgets but they they won't have friends like Ariel who get lost trying to reach the party venue and still come. Definitely not memories of telling Nemo that she needs a wildlife photographer to take a flattering snap of a jittery one like her. No one makes them humongous cards telling them 21 reasons for loving them and tries to make it smell like lavender even if all they get get for their trouble be "I smell only glue."
So I say "Mr. detective, up yours!!"
Glue? Atleast hope it was purple in colour
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