Shiny Disco Balls

We are sex in the not so big, almost semi-circular (thank you urban studies) city. Chennai seems more and more charming each day, no longer do I view it with the same prejudicial glare as I did before, when I saw its map and all it looked like to me was a phallic bulge in someone's pants, if you know what I mean..but then...that's probably just me.

And then God decided to give it all up, on a platter, "Let's make her happy" he must have said in his gruff voice since that's what I presume he must sound like. "Put an end to the cribbing and the whining, the sentimentalizing and the blackmailing, and the unnecessary threats of converting to atheism. Here is your free-pass to chennai, your boy, your good-hair day..."

Sigh.

Thank You.

Mirror Image

We are different. No I don't copy you. It's the genes,you know, the "I-suck-at-math gene" and the "horrible-taste-in-music" gene. And as I lie choking in the dressing room, and implore you to let me buy yet another loose/extra large/kaftan-looking top, and spray my hand with lavender body spray, and tell the thela-man to load up on the momos- I realise that I AM you. When driving you almost knock down the people on the road and say that's because "They don't listen". I raise an eyebrow and and so you scream-

"I AM LOW ON ESTROGEN!"

We have diet coke with extra large popcorn and I wonder who copied who there.