The perfectly flawed Me

I wanted to give him a label. My thoughts were interrupted by a harsh nudge. “Mom,” was my irritated speech. My frown turned into an amazement when I saw the lady extending her hand. “Oh hi, how have you been?” This was someone I barely knew. Dressed in one of her pre-wedding dresses, the sparkling beads on her shirt elaborated the multi-colored flowers. I wanted to puke.  I wanted her to go away. I could not be seen with someone like that. My pride was not ready to compromise and so was her presence. As I took a step behind, she took one towards me. I began to seriously doubt her intentions but it was a public place. I was safe. After a continuous dramatic brag about her new start-up business dealing in yummy food items, she finally went in search of a seat. I was glad my table was completely occupied.

With a deep breath, I settled in to use my phone. I wanted to update my Facebook status as “stuck with a 60 year old at a wedding surrounded by hot guys and fat gleaming aunties”. I was about to hit the enter button when a sense of being closely watched jolted me. No, it was not the cute guy in black and grey from the next table. It was my mom. My mother is perfect but there are times such as this, when she disowns my inappropriate behavior. And because of this, I call her the perfect mom of the perfectly flawed girl. Well, I won’t classify dressing as a chick, chewing a minty gum with frequent efforts of blowing it off into a perfect firm bubble, and wearing joggers as inappropriate. But she does. And that rules out all my chances of enjoying the momentous flirtations and those ‘I know you are looking at me’ glances from boys all around. In fact, this makes me a part of those bunch of females who are offered a plate with a formal smile instructing please you can take the food first. I hate it.

Despite how suffocated I was feeling especially because of the 5 kg dress I had adorned that night, the food was amazing. Biryani is always a love. The look of it told me it is going to be a good burpy night. In order to eat in peace and enjoy every juicy chicken bone, I took a seat away from my mother. She could surely not figure me in such a populated space. I stuck my chewing gum behind my wisdom tooth, and started to dwell deeper on the blessings of Lord. I was not supposed to raise my head to see people around. I don’t usually care. I wanted to hurriedly finish that serving and jump for the next before it faded out. I was soon done. But in the midst of getting up for another serving, I wanted to satisfy my taste buds with another chew of the mint. The gum was stiff. I drank a sip of water to give it a perfect shape. I was yet again trying for another pop. To my amazement, the blow was so hard that the gum went flying across. I had a feeling it was in the wrong direction. With all my courage, I managed to search for it. Oh my God! It was right on the nose tip of the guy sitting on my table. I was not only embarrassed for my extra-pressure blow, but I was sad as the gum now smelled and tasted more like biryani instead of mint. In fact, the manufacturers could come up with a new flavor; biryani-mint chewing gum. The thought made me pat my back for being so innovative.
There was an air of confusion. In the middle of choosing between apologizing and ignoring, my phone started to ring. My mother was waiting to go home. The guy was staring at me. Our eyes locked for a second. I knew what I had to do. As I stood up, I noticed him straightening his back with shoulders taking an assertive form. I grabbed my plate and went in the direction of the food corner. I had to take another serving before I left for home. The guy could possible adjust with what just happened but I could not lose this chance of an appeasing dish. The incident actually did a favor to his droopy hunching posture. I finally decided to give him a name. First impression is not always the last impression. He was no longer the hot-bumpy guy I saw at the door. He was now the one with a ‘biryani-mint nose’.

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