Adult Diapers and Arab Smocks

...male cooks. That’s literally a hair-raising experience if any. Ugh, so hard to swallow down even a morsel when a hairy man in a half tied lungi serves you your poriyal. Can’t ward off the thought that one or more of the fibery strands in that curry are not of the french bean origin.

You guys need adult diapers. Cos apparently you can’t control your stuff. Cos apparently the urge is so urgent, you gotta go right now. Right now when you are talking to me on the phone. And by by the – do not think it necessary to inform me until I hear that horrifying sound of the toilet flushing.

Didn’t your mommy tell you it’s poor manners to pee before others? Oh well, out of sight is out of mind right?

But God help me, I have a million bruises on my mind from horrifying flushes. I have permanent disabilities from the running sound of pee trickling down your wee wee. “These are the stuff that nightmares are made of and our little life is rounded with a tinkle” – Shakespeare from the Tempests of Rabia .

And you know the funny part – EVERYONE does it. And apparently I am the only wierdo who has a problem with it!!! And it totally beats me! I don’t even take a call if I am undressed, or in states in which I would ordinarily not appear before you. Why? Cos well, I got your voice pouring down my ears. There’s barely any distance between you and I. You are in fact very close to me. Physically. Because your sound is converting into physical waves. But you won’t get it na. You will jiggle your wiggle and slap your crap at ease. If there are no eyes there are no spies. Right?

Ugh.

Don’t bother talking to me. Any of you. I know you’ve all done it. I know all of you feel rather empowered and superior when on the pot. I can hear your silent “Let me show ya what I got”s. Show me what you got? I am going to come over right now and dunk your head in that pot and flush it all around.

Grossed out? But it didn’t happen right? Hmmmm. Remember a thing called the power of imagination?

Some people don’t even want to leave it to the imagination. I saw a well-groomed floor manager at an upmarket store – digging his nose away in glory … then go right up to a customer and shake his hand.

There’s a reason I don’t like shaking men’s hands. And it’s got nothing to do with my sense of modesty. It’s got everything to do with theirs. I don’t know why men think that when they scratch their nether-regions, nobody sees it. Hello yes, I may have modest eyes that turn away when you actually do that. But I know what’s going on. The same way I know that you don’t even wipe your hands after having publicly urinated or privately for that matter. There’s a reason male hands have that slimy look. 

I tend to believe that men suffer the rather impractical male clothing essential – the pants, for one sole reason only. Ease of urinating at any publicly available spot. If they had the control women did, the would happily opt for a lungi or a smock like those rather smug Arabs. There would be no nether-region scratching and you could actually hold my attention without me obsessing over all the items of mine that you have had the chance to lay your slimy hands on.

And male cooks. That’s literally a hair-raising experience if any. Ugh, so hard to swallow down even a morsel when a hairy man in a half tied lungi serves you your poriyal. Can’t ward off the thought that one or more of the fibery strands in that curry are not of the french bean origin. Ugh. Ugh. Yugh.

So are you all disgusted enough now?

Good.

Now dontchya ever ever ever call me when on the pot and dontchya never never never try to show me whatchya got.

Pssssst: Ladies, I am actually referring to you. You know that you are the ones who do it the most -- some wierd sense of female bonding going one too far I think!!