One keeps reading how the old age creeps into people’s life, you are just chugging along a mid life, and suddenly one day, you look at the mirror and feel, “What happened to me, when did I turn into this, was I in some sort of a trance through this metamorphosis”.
Nope!. No, I didnt turn into an 80 year old overnight. Just had a similar feeling about having slept through a metamorphosis.
Let me come back to the metamorphasis in a bit.
A silent tilt of head, followed by a ‘been there, done that’ closed eye nod. It’s as though I have learnt a new language of the guys waiting in front of trial room, patiently waiting, as their partners try on a pile of clothes, one after the other, come out briefly to gather the opinion, gaze upon themselves in the mirror for a royal sway, before getting back into the trial room.
Being in a not so famililar area adds its own set of anxiousness into the frey. “What the hell is he doing in our area?”, “doesn’t he have better things to do?”, “cheap skate”, no wonder my mind iterates through possible thoughts on women going in and out of the trial room on seeing me in front of it.
I should be getting l a nobel prize for observation, for the next statement I am going to make. If not a nobel prize may be a simple “I pity you” pitcher of Kingfisher beer would be just fine too. Anyways, have you ever wondered who on earth designs the floor space in these cloths shops, and what on earth makes them put the lingerie and the inner-wear section right next to the woman’s trial room?, Every time one’s waiting in front of it, he is invariably staring into walls and walls of things one would sneak inside a brown bag before taking home. Embarrassment is such a funny thing when it happens to others isn’t it.
I wish we had more couple friendly trial room, may be a some place which has like a secret passage into a room where, your partner tries the clothes on, and you get to check your email, blog a post, order a pizza, or may be sneak in a drink.
Just when you are trying to multiply 278 by 342 and hoping that you are extremely bad at maths, so that you wouldn’t have to think of another passtime, a cruel thought kind of creeps into your mind. You suddenly realize you have never been caught in a woman’s section, especially waiting for your partner. Suddenly your picture flashes in front of you, the single guy wearing printed Tee’s which says all possible nonsense, is still wearing nonsense, but there’s a hand bag holding onto your hand, and a bottle of water which fails to fit into your jeans, so has to be carried around, probably a second mobile fitted into your jeans, and a hair clip hugging your jean pocket. You just hope the clothes shop gets magically transported into a land of strangers making it impossible for someone who can recognize to be in the same world.
You know the feeling one gets as the board examinations progress, and closer we are to the last one, more enthusiastic one gets in anticipation of the end, finally on the day of the final day of the examinations you sport a huge grin?, well it is sort of the same grin which one can find on each of us waiting outside, when the final garment is being tried on. The last step before the freedom.
As I was writing these posts, my mind kept warning me of the possible consequences, as bubbles does loitre around the hallways of virtual rambling once in a way. I guess its age to take chances isn’t it
I did leave out the most important part of metamorphosis. After a stinct as a holder, dreamer, mathematician, standing sleeper, when one gets to sip that one sip of beverage, holding hands of their partner, looking into her eyes, with an occasional wink and a hearty giggle thrown in. Ah who cares about the trial room, Trial room, where’s that.