No Post? No Time!

Each morning as I awake, my one pressing thought other than the slight pressure on my bladder is to write something today. Intracranial pressure being dangerous, I should void my thoughts instead of letting them pile in my head, bored kids on winter break be darned.

I’m sure you’re all dying to hear about my Christmas week spent in a kennel while the humans traipsed up and down the California coast praying for an earthquake free vacation while visiting family and contributing to the coffers at Disneyland and Universal Studios. Or would you rather hear about dad paying peripheral attention to the sultry hostess at Tirupathi Bhimas than to the pongal and oothapam in front of him?

Perhaps I should talk about how unnerving it was to find Hrithik’s biceps in Dhoom 2 to be somewhat larger than mom’s thighs. Or the alarm bells that went off when Anu chanced upon the cover for The 40-Year-Old Virgin and didn’t ask what the word meant.

In the interest of the new year, I think I’ll stay safe and limit myself to wishing my wonderful readers – family members (named and anonymous), friends (tangible and virtual), regulars, anons and shy lurkers - a very happy 2007!

Thank you all for stopping by a lot more regularly than I post. I'm glad some of you seem to visit more often than I go to the bathroom.

And to the person who Googled “Terri’s boobs” and landed here? Sorry to disappoint you, bud, but I keep my endowments well hidden. So well, in fact, that you might have better luck with a hirsute Akshay Kumar or Anil Kapoor.

Venting

Dad (from armchair): “You’re still cooking? You’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon.”
Mom: “I’m almost done. Just a few more things.”
Dad: “I think there’s enough food. Why don’t you stop?”
Mom: “Hmmm ….”
Dad: “You should learn to keep things simple. There’s beer, right? That’s all we really need for the party, along with finger food.”

Dad rises from the armchair and approaches mom.

Mom’s heart skips a beat, secretly hoping dad is about to hug her. “Maybe he really appreciates all I do,” she thinks, berating herself for the uncharitable thoughts that crossed her mind not a moment ago, when she saw him lolling in the armchair, coffee mug in hand.

Dad is now within kissing distance of mom.

Mom pretends to be busy sautéing onions. She keeps her fingers crossed.

Dad reaches over mom’s head.

“Here it comes,” thinks mom, holding her breath.

A sudden roar fills the room. Dad has turned on the exhaust fan above the range.

“Try and leave this on,” he says, before walking away. “The whole house smells.”

One-word review: WOW!

Kissa Kiss Ka

The bile rose in mom’s throat as she watched the lip-locked teenagers leaning against the library wall, tickling each other's tonsils with their tongues.

School had just let out, and the library parking lot adjacent to the high school was filled with youngsters waiting for their rides.

A few kids slouched on the sidewalk, hands in their pockets, swaying slightly to the rhythm of their iPods. But the vast majority was joined at the hip to a member of the opposite sex.

The prude in mom, latent all these years, was suddenly awoken. She wanted to shield her son's eyes, smother him to her chest and say, “My sweet, innocent baby, promise me you won’t be exchanging saliva like this in a couple of years. Please tell me you’ll wait until you graduate from medical school or until I'm menopausal - whichever comes later."

The pimply-faced, overgrown adolescents, with their tongues rammed down each other's throats, would not have bothered mom a few years ago. After all, her own hormones had raged at 14 for Rhett Butler and for Father Ralph at 16.

But now, as a parent, the steaminess on the sidewalk where her little angels were trotting and dodging clinging couples, bothered her. Perhaps this is what her own parents were sheltering her from with their incessant “What, When, Where, Why, How?” questions when she was growing up.

Shouldn't there be a law against public displays of affection on school premises? Seriously, if dog owners can be fined $200 for not picking up after their pets, and women can be hounded for nursing in public, why can’t juveniles be barred from kissing on campus?

Underage necking, you see, is seriously injurious to my mom’s health.

Jest for Fun

Sigh! Just as surely as desi events never seem to start on time, it’s a given that grandma and I do not see eye to eye on many issues. For example:

• Living abroad – “Why slog in a strange country so far away when you can live like a king/queen here?”
• Sleeping in – “Wake up! You’re just wasting your precious life away.”
• Clipping fingernails at night – “There’s a reason why our elders have said you shouldn’t clip your nails at night. What reason? I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s a valid one.”
• Rising early and greeting the day with a smile – Same argument as above.

Therefore, it comes as no surprise that grandma finds certain posts on this blog entirely objectionable.

Grandma: “How can you write such rubbish? Chee, chee, at least have some shame.”
Me: “But, but …”
Grandma: “Where are your moral values? Is this what we’ve taught you?”
Me: “But, but …”
Grandma: “Do you have any idea how many people in our family read your blog?”
Me: “No, but, but …”
Grandma: “Do us all a favor and get two blogs. One decent one that the whole family can read and another one for all your other nonsense. Really, sometimes your blog is as disgusting as a Malayali blue film.”
Me (thinking): “Wait a second! What does she know about skin flicks?”

Perhaps now would not be a good time to let grandma know about that telecommuting position that found its way into mom’s inbox, one that she may or may not apply to:

Feel like you’re going nowhere in your current job? Can you seduce people with your words?
XXX, home of the largest repository of adult literature online, is looking for a motivated, talented and razor-sharp writer/editor to write/edit adult stories, erotic literature and various columns intended for mature audiences only.
You must be comfortable with erotica and adult situations. Great pay. Only serious inquiries, please.

Hmmm, I wonder if this blog would qualify as a work sample.