Men and Women are the same. They both look at other women. We just can’t stop looking at another woman, especially if she is prettier, well dressed and smarter than us. The usual talk consists of everything from nail polish color to a grey hair. Last evening when we were having fun at the cost of others by thinking that we are the descendants of Marlin Monroe, something struck me. It was about a photo album which I had stumbled upon when I went home. Our talking paused and I started narrating the story.
I was terribly adamant and greatly spoiled during the early stages of my teenage. Unfortunately, my parents were really nice to me that they never humiliated, insulted or embarrassed me by finding my faults. My looks were below average and I still cannot make out how I even thought in my dreams that I’m strikingly beautiful. May be teenage thoughts are that way.
My Mother would softly refuse to buy me the clothes which I wanted to buy. She would say every reason other reason such as the cloth is old, the color of the cloth may fade, the cloth may shrink etc except that I would look pathetic in that dress. But teenage blood fumes and works better than my Mother’s matured blood and finally she would say yes to my requests. This scene is applicable for everything that I must have bought during my early teenage days. Also I had my own concepts for wearing ornaments and dressing up my hair. She did put a sincere effort to make me understand how bad I look in certain outfits and hair styles but me being the beauty queen of my dreams always had a counter answer for her worries and queries.
It wasn’t an unusual scene at home for the neighbors and relatives to see me weird but supposedly called fashionable clothes. In the photo album, I found a picture of mine in a fluorescent yellow top and a bright green umbrella skirt (please imagine the brightest green you have ever seen).Now to make things worse and funnier, I had kept my hands on my waist as if I were Silk Smitha ;also I had stooped down little to make the picture looks sexy. I couldn’t stop laughing. The more I thought about the thoughts of people who had seen me the more I laughed. It is a funny nightmare for me to think about the reactions people must have controlled while looking at me in the dress. I’m glad that they were kind enough to make such a gesture. My Father must have had a stomach pain by laughing after clicking the picture. He running to the toilet after the shot confirms my doubts.
Now all I can do is to control my laughs when I see somebody in funny outfits. Pausing for a while and looking back to life did make me hide my face with embarrassment. It was a surprise to realize that for everything that I am laughing at now, I had done it long back in my life.
Image Courtesy : digital-photography-school.com