Aladdin had a magic carpet which transported him, in the twinkling of an eye, across the swirling sands of the desert.
I saw an old couple sharing some magical moments with each other, while taking a walk into the evening sun.
Some entrepreneurs have a magical touch; whatever they touch turns to gold, making each venture more successful than the last.
When you are hurt (emotionally or physically), someone’s reassuring, soothing words work like magic.
Cinderella’s fairy Godmother had the magic wand which, with one wave, turned the sweet put plain cinder girl to centrefold gorgeousness personified.
For some, thankfully, the three magic words – ‘Please, sorry, thank you,’ still exist.
As for me, what magic do I have in my life?
I have a magic wallet.
Pray what is that, you might arch an eyebrow and ask curiously.
Well, to answer your query, I have a wallet, which no matter how much money you put into it, does one of the following:
A) makes the money disappear (one day its clearly there, the other day it vanishes)
B) changes the currency notes into receipts!!
Can you think of anything more magical!
I suspect the glitzy malls that have mushroomed in every nook and corner of the city, have something to do with the case of my perpetually drained-out wallet / purse.
These pesky shops pull me to them, extending their ritzy arms to me, waiting for me to reciprocate their warm embrace.
And once I do, everyone knows the story of the Venus trap, and how difficult, almost impossible it is, to escape from its clutches. It is akin to a flailing fish trying to escape from the tentacles to a triumphant octopus.
Anywhichways, yours truly’s wallet is usually the picture of a barren nation, quite a far picture from the ‘greenery’ she would like to see.
Sometimes, methinks it has an invisible suction cup attached to it, which cunningly siphons off all the hard-earned cash I religiously put into it. Drat!
Good friend from college, let’s call her by her initials – RS, also echoes my feelings, saying that her wallet too has this black hole which constantly makes trips to the friendly ATM to replenish it, almost a bi-weekly feature.
Those plastic shopping bags that produce such a pleasing, crunching sound are also to be blamed, as even when RS and I walk like two horses with blinkers, we inadvertently chance upon bargains that are too-hard-to-pass-up-and-go-by and no matter how hard we bite our lips, we can’t help but take a peek, and then…DISASTER strikes - wallets are whipped-out, payments are made, and those beguiling packets are handed us. Guilt often sets in, within 10-15 minutes of the shopping spree, depending upon the bill run-up.
To drown our sorrows, the strategically-placed bistro / lounge almost calls out to us in a sexy baritone, and we fall victim yet again – to yet another meal, where, for the amount we pay, the portions are surprisingly miniscule.
(The poor wallets scowl, muttering to no one in particular about how they like to be exclusive, and don't like making too frequent appearances, and how they wished their daft owners understood that).
Promises are made – that we would watch where our steps lead us(literally), that we would swear off the FDs (four devils, not the other acronym that my Dad would be proud of if I invested in them). These demons are, in descending order of costs – perfumes, bags, footwear, and clothes / accessories / makeup. Darn!
However, considering that a couple of days back, I made my way through an entire floor of a perfume-sniffer’s delight, without picking up a single bottle, does speak volumes of my turning over a new leaf.
Well, just maybe...
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