The Sale Story

Sale.

A four letter word, guaranteed to send most people of my gender into a tizzy, and their male counterparts into a paroxysm of utter gloom, their grimaces barely concealed by the watery smiles they manage to write on their faces.

But you can hardly blame them.

The women, I mean.

After all, why wouldn’t they? That alluring lime-colored dress that had been making them go weak in the knees for months, and which was almost as addictive as looking at dishy Clooney in the Omega full-page advert, with genuine avarice in the eyes, is up for grabs.

At an unbeatable price slash.

One would be a fool to let go of such an alluring offer.

So why wouldn’t that make them put on their trainers, and make a beeline to the morning queue outside the store, where a number of other like-minded women had decided to make a mad sprint to, too?

Inside, the scene is nothing short of a war, where women of all shapes and sizes sweat it out to get that last wine-colored bolero jacket, the tan waistcoat, those charcoal-grey flannel trousers…

There is no time to waste over phone calls – so any calls received are done so in under thirty seconds – a record of sorts. Unless of course the caller in question has called with news of another discount in the vicinity, in which case the phone call is attended to with the utmost reverence…

Amid jostling, cussing, eyebrow-raising, and the odd stepping on one another’s toes, when one emerges with the garment / object of contention, it is nothing short of a victory.

And the look upon your colleague / acquaintance when you smugly show her the winning article – priceless, to say the least….

A Bags to Riches Story

A self-confessed bag lover, I have often been the butt of ridicule for my (not-so) strange obsession. My only point of defence is that I only have some ten bags, as compared to women who have closets spilling over with them, and are perpetually on the lookout for yet some more to add to the loot. Oh boy! Don’t I just turn a not-so-pretty emerald shade when I think of those closets, and how I would gladly give an arm and a leg to get my greedy hands on one of ‘em Vera Bradleys, Louis Vuittons, Mark Jacobs, Pradas, Fendis, Chanels, Guccis, Diors – Mmmmm.

And ohhh, it’s such a wondrous pleasure to walk into a shopping section, better still, a glitzy showroom, brimming over with bags, purses, clutches, totes, satchels, of all shapes and sizes, hues, patterns, fabrics – you name it – they probably have one that you wanna “bag.”

The average British woman slings a bag that weighs approximately 5.2 pounds. Into it, she probably dunks her mini-world (Read fume, emergency hair products, wet face tissues, keys, change, wallet, those monthly supplies, Oh, did I forget gloss, mascara, and other goop she applies on her face. Phew! Now what have I missed?).

Friends call my bag a Pandora’s box – dig into it, and you’ll probably find a half-eaten bar of chocolate. Dig even deeper, you might find gum, different kinds of stationery products; for those luckier, there could be everything from earrings to switch blades, mini lotions and the odd fruit face pack sachet.

Just as a woman’s moods change, so do her handbag. So just when you get used to the red monstrosity she insists on carrying with her everywhere (including the rest room), enter she does the next day, with a teeny-weeny white clutch, clasped in her left hand, leaving you wondering what she could carry in it, barring a lipper and a pair of keys. Thank God that the red eyesore was shelved – that’s your only refrain. However, your prayers were premature, cos the next time, she is armed with a huge (big would only be an understatement), straw bag, in a rich brinjal shade, leaving you cringing, and making you wonder if she carried a twenty pound bull-terrier in it – it is that bulging.

And boy! if she’s the sort to make you carry her bag when she’s tired, may the Gods be with you! Be prepared to receive smirks from passing strangers…

Coming back to the topic, going bag / shoe-shopping is one of the highlights for us women. Skimming the daily for half-price bag sales is a perpetual hobby. Even better if our favorite showrooms have them on discount. Entering one of these places is like getting a new high. An hour later, we emerge, clutching a coveted trophy victoriously. Men would never understand our bag-fetish. For them, one black / brown wallet is more than enough for an entire year.

No wonder they roll their eyes dramatically every time we utter those words – “honey, I’m going shopping for a bag.”

Their silent groans couldn’t be more audible…;-)

A woman's poem

A friend forwarded this to me some minutes ago; my hands were itching to post this poem here.
So here it is:

A Woman's Poem

He didn't like the curry
And he didn't like my cake.
He said my biscuits were too hard...
Not like his mother used to make.

I didn't prepare the coffee right
He didn't like the stew,
I didn't mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.

I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Isn’t there anything I could do
To match his mothers shoe

Then I smiled as I saw light
One thing I could definitely do
I turned around and slapped him tight...

Like his mother used to!!!!!

The (un)fair gender divide

It is strange how when a woman is trying to carry out her assigned role(s) of responsibility she is straightaway termed an "iron woman," "ruthless, "wearing the pants in her house," "a cold-hearted, ambitious b****," or plain "bossy."
On the flip side, even when a man is being out and out peremptory and Hector-like, he is considered a leader au naturel, and said to be performing his responsibility responsibly.
It's so goddamned partisan.
A woman who is speeding in the corporate race, is automatically character-assassinated if she meets people over a friendly bottle of scotch(Pssst-you know what? I saw that floozie guzzling two straight pegs on the rocks with that Chairman. I bet she's up to no good. Giggle. Smirk. Wink Wink). Even a harmless coffee does more harm than good to her. A beer-bellied man on the other hand, downing pints as if there's no tomorrow - Oh - he's just gathering some useful,top-notch business info. The scotch just comes in handy to loosen him up. After all, he's had a rough day, poor chap. He deserves his Budweiser. He's earned it, damn you!
A woman who is open about her life / relationship / views is a hussy, who doesn't know the virtues of keeping her trap shut; a man who does so, is obviously a candid and transparent man. God bless the honest soul!
A woman who cannot(or won't) cook, is termed unnatural, unwomanly, and too hoity-toity. I mean, isn't cooking synonymous with all womankind, right? Now I agree, that cooking is a survival trait-almost like driving and swimming, but hey, if someone doesn't cook doesn't make her less of a woman. Or does it? In the same breath, a man who cooks(or at least tries to put the cheese, bread, butter, and ketchup together) is one whiz-kid, and whatever he whips up to eat, is nothing short of a culinary delight. And no woman who eats his gourmet offering, better forget that in a hurry(Burp).
If a woman has slapped someone, she is made out to be a screeching cat with red-drawn-out-talons, a battle-axe who is too big for her own boots; if a man is involved in a fisticuff, he is after all a man, one of the boys, showing his dash for derring-do. And probably, who knows, maybe the buggers deserved this male (it's always masculine) specimen of daring, to show them who's the man in control. Biff! Thud! Smack! (Swooning women abound naturally at this heroic display of courage).
A woman who abuses is obviously the worst kind possible. Who knows what other foul things she may be up to (shudder)? After all, aren't all women supposed to be these giggling, tittering, eyelashes-fluttering, quiet(better still, silent), dainty, paragons of beauty? A man, on the other hand, who constantly peppers his language with colorful vocabulary , is just speaking his mind. And giving vent to some justified anger / just letting off steam.
It's all so convenient being a man. No wonder, they call it a man's world.
Do you think it's fair?
Are you shaking your head in dissent or nodding your approval?