I’m in a really irritated mood and I have a million people who are due to Skype with but of course everyone is unavailable at this crucial moment so my wit will flow here.
1) I get it. I have a huge packet of crisps in my transparent grocery bag. And nothing else. BUT HERE IS THE THING, EVERYONE WHO GAVE ME LOOKS AS I WALKED BACK WITH IT FROM TESCO:
YOU DON’T KNOW ME. YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.
You don’t know how many words I have left in my dissertation. You don’t know how many days away from my period I am. You don’t know that I bought loads of veggies and milk and healthy stuff that I stuffed in my bag and the crisps didn’t fit which is why I had to carry them. But never again will I do this, weight proportioning be damned.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. TALKIN TO YOU SKINNY BITCH IN HEELS WHO SMIRKED AT MY BAG OF CRISPS.
2) Why do people stare so much? I really need someone to be honest with me about this. Do I wear ridiculous clothes? Is my hair or skin or face extremely off-putting? Is it my weird figure? Or am I just so exceptionally stunning that you all can’t keep your gaze to yourself? ITS ANNOYING. STOP IT.
3) I hate my friends. Everyone is having sex and having romances. I’m left all alone in my zone of single boredom. IT’S THEIR FAULT, THEY MADE ME THIS BITTER HAG. On top of everything I have to smile and pretend to be really supportive and excited as they narrate their love stories to me. My cheeks fucking hurt, okay? And there is like this muscle in your brain which is the brain equivalent of cheeks which also hurts when you have to constantly think of fake excited/happy things to say when really you’re just really jealous and really bored, simultaneously. And what is it about love stories that makes them so appealing to me when enacted by two attractive people with background music on screen or in a book, but make me want to barf with boredom when narrated by people I call ‘friends’ or ‘sisters’.
If and when I have my own love story, I will fucking keep it to myself. A simple ‘I met someone. He’s cool’ will suffice. Rab di saun.
4) Apparently, my dad wants me to get married. Correction: expects me to get married. Soon-ish. Like, its the elephant in the room on which I have to have some thoughts (HIS WORDS). Thoughts such as ‘I never want to get married.’ ‘I may get married but never arranged’ are not valid, though.
The Punjabi side comes out after all. Thank you, universe, for teaching me this lesson. All year, the gore log kept asking me their inane questions about whether I’m engaged to be married to a nameless faceless boy back home that I always brushed off with arrogant, condescending incredulousness. Or at best, with laughing denial.
Fuck this though. If my dad thinks I’m being childish or impractical about this ‘marriage issue’ then so be it. If I was ambivalent on this issue so far I’m going to be incredibly childish now and use this unexpected pressure he’s putting on me to make up my mind: I’m NOT getting married till I’m 27. Probably 30. And definitely NEVER arranged.
There you go, father dear. That is my opinion on marriage. Deal.
P.S. – picture with flowers is to go with the title. How does your garden grow, etc… Plus its calming. No?