In a fit of non-alcoholic drunkenness yesterday, I described the smile as the “else” of all “ifs” in the crazy code of life. If the statement above doesn’t make any sense at all, don’t blame yourself. That’s what we’re all doing this year. Not blaming ourselves for not understanding complex sentences written by non-alcoholic drunkards. It’s less of a theory, and more of a survival mechanism, really.
Coming back to the particular smile I am talking about. It’s a smile I’ve been witnessing for about three months now. Imagine this:
A tilted, bowed head with the eyes raised boldly making contact with yours, and a smile that emerges in a flash and takes over this entire face. It says “Aren’t I the wisest and the nicest person you are likely to meet in your revolutions around the sun?” When it sees the “Ummm.. NO!” blank expression on your face, it vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, and the head turns to smile at other people.
This smile belongs to my classmate, whose voice cuts glass in India even while she’s in London. It’s the smile that belongs on the evil face of some superhero’s adversary, and should definitely not be unleashed upon mere mortals, who in any case are rapidly converting to the belief that they are moulding pieces of sponge.
In other news, I am in love with Jack. He of the hair and the pan obviously is one of the 20 regular readers of this blog, for yesterday, he cleaned all his utensils in hot water and soap. Also, he let me use his glass to measure rice, and was polite enough not to cough when I burned my dinner under his nose. His Jill was also in the kitchen last night, and he was cooking for her. He was expertly cutting vegetables, while she was toying around with a knife wondering what size to cut the courgette in. Dump her, Jack my boy. I know exactly how to chop the veggies to match the ones you’re chopping! I’ll be really nice, except the time I’m dunking your head in the basin to tame your hair.
I witnessed a police boat chase on the Thames this morning. Ok, it was one police boat chasing another, but are you going to deny a smile-terrorised, Jill-hating, moulded sponge its only chance at happiness? You savage brutes!