This question pops up every couple of months. This time, it was a colleague and before he (or I) knew it, I was strangling him and asking, “What on earth is the “This” supposed to mean?” He coughed to indicate that he was dying, popped his eyeballs back into their sockets, and looked at me with unadulterated horror. “What happened?”
Mostly, this vague question is asked by seniors/superiors and I have to just say “yes”. The last time it was asked, the unworthy crush was standing close by and launched into laughter that vaguely resembled an aria by an asthmatic hyena. One angry stare reduced him to a pile of ashes on the carpet.
Now I am not at all averse to answering questions. Ask me anything and you can be sure you’ll get an honest reply. You can also be assured that you will see me with my foot in my mouth and my arms lashing my back (complicated yoga posture: regretaasan) five minutes later. But I have to know what you are talking about to be able to answer your question, right?
Have I always been like this? Yes, I’ve been increasing in size irreversibly (sigh) and changing pattern unlike a leopard, but I have always been like this. No wait, like what? This time, I was bent on finding out.
“Like a character.”
“As in…a character??”
“As in a strange person who is living inside you and sharing your body.”
I looked like I was dividing 3248548272032 by 596587543 in my head.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
I tried to calculate up to ten decimal places.
All the people in the world cannot need to have their head examined. It has to be me.
Note: The Mammageddon series has been abandoned because of lack of inspiration. This space being the only spot in the world completely subservient to my whims and fancies, I can do this and nobody can stop me. Any readers who got their hopes up have only themselves to blame.