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Gent is at the service center to pick up his car. He was bang on time and bubbling with delicious anticipation of the kind usually reserved for special occasions.
Ruddy place, thought Gent, but where were these buggers who were to hand over his shiny new car to him? Oh, there they were!
He saw a tousled head bob up from behind a car. Ugh... Why was he bobbing behind a car? Did that mean the buggers hadn't touched his car? If that was the case, they sure had something coming.
Gent walked gingerly into the service area of the service center, straining to catch snatches of conversation to arm himself for the verbal duel he was sure would ensue.
"Who that?" he heard a guttural voice.
"Man for Hunndei Guesstt..." a faintly feminie voice trailed off in answer.
Obviously Guttural hadn't heard Feminine, for he repeated his question.
"Man for Hunndei Guesstt..." Feminine hissed.
It was all that Gent could do to hold back his smile. Hyundai Getz should have been christened here. Right here, he told himself and pictured a design that was a cross between Attila the Hunn and a gazebo on wheels. Ha! But he mustn’t laugh. He was almost near them now. Guttural was speaking again.
"You holding light. I oorain first" said Guttural in answer, catching the general picture of the setting. But our visitor didn't quite catch on.
He what first? A puzzled Gent wondered as he saw Guttural head for the back door. Well not that there was a door, or any proper walls to hold up the roof. The only proper wall was a fallen hoarding.
"Why you going there, you going here" Feminine shrilled pointing ahead of himself.
Immediately Guttural changed direction and headed behind the hoarding. Shortly thereafter Gent suspected he heard the sound of falling rain. Or oorain as he quickly realised. Guttural was taking a leak.
He couldn't stand there anymore. He quickly decided that he'd pick up his car a little later and presently nip away to some place where he could laugh out loud.
Guttural can wonder where he'd disappeared to when he gets back from making oorain.
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Showing posts with label gents tales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gents tales. Show all posts
Bachelors Raise Hands!
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Ashmika fretted. Anita fumed. And their respective rogue husbands relived their bachelor days in shameless nonchalance. Now if you think this is a one off thing, you must be from Planet Daft. It’s been happening ever since these poor damsels fell for the evil enticements of their respective gents and sacrificed themselves at the alter of matrimony.
One of this wicked twosome, is the quintessential ‘sweetheart’ oozing dollops of innocence and charm. All sugar and spice… that you could almost picture a manservant walking in his shadow shooing the flies away. He patronises stores with a higher female staff ratio, ostensibly for economic gain or so one is to believe. But this gent knows which side of his toast is buttered. So what if he makes an occasional innocent pass? So what if Anita fumes? Isn’t he renting DVDs from a respectable store, paying next to nothing (considering that he’s managed a lifetime waiver on Horribly-Late-Fees, a category that didn’t exist in their ledgers ever before)?
“Oh yes!” The other gent would eagerly admit his vigorous support for gent one. Birds of a feather! Now, gent number two is a different salad altogether. My! Talk about salad! Even the dressing (read: the pretext of situations he eases himself into) is all gooey innocence. See a pattern here that you can borrow for your own escapades? Gent two still lives his excruciating post bachelor blues. For instance, he has always introduced his sweet wife as his friend. “Always, without fail” Ashmika will tell you. Blame it on selective amnesia in the presence of the fairer sex. Poor man. How he suffers!
Once gent number two was at this party laced with liberal amounts of braggadocio and the whiskey that accompanies it. He was in his element. At his shining charming, laugh-aloud best. Some time into the wining and dining, someone asked for all bachelors to raise their hands. “That’s me!” said gent number two to himself and quickly raised his hand. Looking around surreptitiously, it was apparent to him that he was the only ‘bachelor’ at the table. “Oh Yeh!” he blushed…
But wait! Ugh! Wasn’t that angelic face opposite him familiar? He remembered driving her to the party. He even remembered seeing her around the house! Ugh! No, he was dreaming. He was being visited by a past life experience. Whiskey sometimes does that to you. But what was all that sniggering and giggling around the table? And why was ‘angel face’ looking daggers at him? No! It can’t be true!
This isn’t fair, he said to himself as realisation slowly dawned. He was in all probability married! He hazarded a quick look at ‘angel face’. “Mummy! That’s her! My wife! I’m married!” Could it be that he was... err... hallucinating? Didn’t whiskey do that to you? Pin It Now!
One of this wicked twosome, is the quintessential ‘sweetheart’ oozing dollops of innocence and charm. All sugar and spice… that you could almost picture a manservant walking in his shadow shooing the flies away. He patronises stores with a higher female staff ratio, ostensibly for economic gain or so one is to believe. But this gent knows which side of his toast is buttered. So what if he makes an occasional innocent pass? So what if Anita fumes? Isn’t he renting DVDs from a respectable store, paying next to nothing (considering that he’s managed a lifetime waiver on Horribly-Late-Fees, a category that didn’t exist in their ledgers ever before)?
“Oh yes!” The other gent would eagerly admit his vigorous support for gent one. Birds of a feather! Now, gent number two is a different salad altogether. My! Talk about salad! Even the dressing (read: the pretext of situations he eases himself into) is all gooey innocence. See a pattern here that you can borrow for your own escapades? Gent two still lives his excruciating post bachelor blues. For instance, he has always introduced his sweet wife as his friend. “Always, without fail” Ashmika will tell you. Blame it on selective amnesia in the presence of the fairer sex. Poor man. How he suffers!
Once gent number two was at this party laced with liberal amounts of braggadocio and the whiskey that accompanies it. He was in his element. At his shining charming, laugh-aloud best. Some time into the wining and dining, someone asked for all bachelors to raise their hands. “That’s me!” said gent number two to himself and quickly raised his hand. Looking around surreptitiously, it was apparent to him that he was the only ‘bachelor’ at the table. “Oh Yeh!” he blushed…
But wait! Ugh! Wasn’t that angelic face opposite him familiar? He remembered driving her to the party. He even remembered seeing her around the house! Ugh! No, he was dreaming. He was being visited by a past life experience. Whiskey sometimes does that to you. But what was all that sniggering and giggling around the table? And why was ‘angel face’ looking daggers at him? No! It can’t be true!
This isn’t fair, he said to himself as realisation slowly dawned. He was in all probability married! He hazarded a quick look at ‘angel face’. “Mummy! That’s her! My wife! I’m married!” Could it be that he was... err... hallucinating? Didn’t whiskey do that to you? Pin It Now!
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