Tame Hair

She had 500 bucks in her purse,

Strolled down the road, like a hearse.

Looking to tame her frizzy mane,

She entered into the lion’s den.

Blow’em up, she said;

I don’t care what is made.

She felt like a princess,

Who was under duress;

To doll up and laugh,

At the dullest chaff.

Dyes and potions,

In motion and lotions,

She unveiled her blind eyes,

To the world of highs.

Tall heels and short skirt,

Mascara in the desert.

She wowed at her image,

While catcalls came off the village.

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Very soon,

We will live,

In the future.

Things change,

Children grow.

We will be wrinkled.

Cars will fly,

Ants will rule.

Grey garbs everywhere,

Mind and matter,

No battles there.

Laughter will be chaotic,

Extraterrestrials far away.

In the summertime,

Butterflies will be chased.

My Genes Wear Track pants

Now that I have your attention, let me tell you this. I was going to title this one simply, “Trusty Pants”. But then I saw this hilarious quote on someone’s t-shirt this morning and realised this is perfect for what I am about to share. You see, about six years ago, my thirty-odd year search for the perfect pair of pants ended. I don’t know if others go  through this, but there’s either a pants-tent or a sagging bottom or a waist that just wont stay at the waist, or there’s pants riding up or down, wedgie-like; button-fly, zippers, elastic bands, drawstring; absolutely nothing works. So much so, that I almost switched to skirts. Who in their right mind is going to shave or wax or laser or thread or bleach or whatever their legs for skirts EVERY SINGLE DAY?! Hence, pants! I had tried all kinds of fabric too! Jeans and linens and cottons and canvas and wooden bark and polyester and lycra and anything that is wearable and not tearable. every single pair ended up in the Goodwill basket.

Then, I came across these fabulous pair. Simple black. Nothing to them. Just a simple pair of pants. And they hugged me. And I hugged them. We went EVERYWHERE together since we first met. Birthday parties, soirées, picnics, out-of-town trips, movies, funerals, weddings(Yup, hold your gasping!), baby showers, house-warmings, morning walks, evening walks, park visits, shopping, you name it. Now the fashion police would severely reprimand me and throw me in jail for this, but let me tell you this. I have had two issues in life: Learning how to play chess (I still don’t know) and finding the perfect pair of pants. So when you find something you have struggled to find all your life, you stick to it. Why, just this morning I wore them for a walk and I would wear them again when I go to pick my son up from school, and to the dreaded PTA. Say what you must, I am sticking to them. And one more thing, you know how black gathers lint very easily? No? (Yes, I’ve thrown them in the washing machine inside out; Yes, I’ve tried washing them separately; Yes, I have cleaned out the lint filter; Yes, I have used special detergent.) Well, anyway, mine is all covered in lint and I just carry on about assuming people would think that’s how they are designed, like a derelict fashion style. I like to think it adds character. I am done with the lint roller. It just makes them more linty.

So there you have it. I have openly proclaimed my love for the trusty pants. And to think I live with someone who is on some highly elitist Jeans-squads! In fact, just yesterday at lunch, when my pants soaked up the second helping of tapenade (apart from many other drips like salsa, spaghetti sauce, juices, you know, anything spillable), I was reminded to wear something classier when out in public. And I said, “Do they clone pants yet?”

You must have gathered by now that I don’t care about clothes. I am trying to care, but someone has to convince me that clothes are important. I wear hand-me-downs from the one fashionista I live with, because nudist colonies are not very much in vogue. I have a rebuttal for everything a fashion/styling guru would have to say. Sure! I know the names, Givenchy and Dior and Chanel and Versace and Valentino and all of them classics. But would I walk down a red carpet in one of their shimmering creations? No. Mainly because there’s not going to be a red carpet event for me. And even if there is going to be one, you can bet your bottom dollar, you’d see me in my linty black pants. Because, my genes wears those!

Oscars, Women’s Day & all that..

I’m going to keep this cursory, and at the same time, civil.

Oscars, they came, we saw. GET ON WITH IT ALREADY! The nonstop spiel, who wore what, the nods to diversity and inclusion, the #timesup, the Swarovski crystals, blah blah blah. Do we have to do this every year; talk about it so much?! I mean, like a bike lane, another Internet space needs to be created to vault all these opinions and news. It’s a show-watch it, don’t watch it, enjoy it, don’t enjoy it. WHATEVER! Move on! (By the by, I watched it, like every year, and enjoyed it. I know nothing about fashion. So, in my opinion, Rita Moreno pulled a super-cool stunt by wearing the same dress again. I’m surprised I didn’t hear a lot of “gasps!” from the fashion police for her “blasphemous” act of re-wearing a dress. And I noticed that glasses are becoming fashionable, a lot of them had them on, prescription or whatever. So, that’s cool.)

Alright.. moving on..

Women’s Day. I’d like to read in tomorrow’s paper that there’s going to be a Men’s Day also. Needing a “day” to celebrate womanhood defeats the purpose of feminism, doesn’t it? Forget equality, let’s oppress men instead. It’s their turn now to have a “day”. And for them to have a “day”, they need to be oppressed. So let’s start with men all over the world marching for freedom. Lets include men in the phoney-baloney speeches too. Let’s give men flowers. Let’s put them on a podium and clap for them. Why? Because it’s only right. Equality and all that. *eyeroll*

** My apologies to women, men, in-betweeners, fashion people, feminists, menists, florists, and Matt Damon, I ran out of time.

Evil eye on tie

The trousers, bespoke, cut to perfection,

Of little-known hand-spun yarn.

Lay in the sun, wringed and vivacious.

To create unique unidentified lines.

Of all the papyrus and linen used,

The wonders of this fabric abound.

 

From mysterious faraway places,

To the lands of dragons and agung.

To the discerning eye, a sigh of ecstasy,

To the indiscriminate, just a piece of rag.

Beau monde and au naturel, together,

Applauded and flagellated.