Meet the friends

I am charming. Witty. Smart of course. And pretty in an unconventional way.

I am the aunt that my cousins' children will whisper secrets to. I am the cousin that cousins hug at railway stations and hold hands when they cross the road. The fact that I am terrible at crossing roads is another story altogether. But you get the drift don't you? I am the girl that aunts always say nice things about. Uncles love talking to. Ah- I see you've got it.

No, not the angelic one. But the smart, witty- the first line things. Yeah- that's it.

So why the sudden attack of panic when he asks me to meet his friends, you might very well ask. Oh- is it natural and hence you aren't?

My hands shake nervously when I wear the eye liner. It looks like something my cousin's 3 year old son has drawn. This is the part where I should down a gulp of Scotch to steady my hands. I'll stock it up, I promise.

The dress feels too loose. The hair is better not talked about. I'm heading for the barber shop when this is over.

But I do look nice. Not as nice as the day before- but still. I wait for him to pick me up. He doesn’t say much. Maybe we should do this another day.

When we park the car, he points to the other car in the driveway saying it’s them. And adds unhelpfully, "You bet every eye out there is on you!"

The heels were too high. But thankfully the driveway wasn't too lit.

Here's the gist. My carefully planned conversations, suitable answers, and smart repartees weren't used. You can borrow them if you want.

They were a rowdy bunch, oh yes. Food was devoured at a pace I watched stunned. I’m never inviting them home.

And language. Well, I’m gonna make sure my mom never meets them.

And they so excluded me from there conversation. Half an hour later, I joined in lustily. I hate being left out.

If you thought I didn’t like it, well no. I quite enjoyed it. Well, I am always like this. I crib about everything I like.

But I am gonna pay him back for this. Coz I am a woman. More so, coz it’s just me!

He’s gonna meet my friends. And I’m picking the worst of the lot.

Let me see… there’s one who only talks about animals- her cats. He hates cats.

And there’s this one who talks about the latest book on the top charts. He never reads.

And my own favorite who talks about her Randle Patrick McMurphy in her psychiatry department. He hates cuckoos.