Couching along – 1

Strange yes but not unsurprising, are the tantrums my wife throws when sees me wiggling my toes in front of the television come weekend. Well, pray tell me my fell homosapiens, what are weekends for? Here’s the ugly list:

• Catch up with Telly. With the T20 Cup on, there definitely is an incentive
• Catch up with some movies thus collected but not even peeked at, save a forgotten Sharon Stone flick
• Catch up with some guilt surfing. Am not going to expand into this further for my wife can and will definitely read this.

I am sure there are a lot of tales out there, running parallel to mine when I say this that my weekend is ruined the moment my better half sees me on the bed past 10 with either of these in my hand: Remote / DVD / Laptop. With all the electronic surveillance rendered useless with some pretty good third eye surveillance, I proceed to wiggle my toes which wangles a huge harrumppph from the already frothy mouth (it was really pretty when I married). Willing myself to haul my reluctant posterior off my four-poster heaven, I proceed towards the faucet which ideally should have been alien to me till one in the afternoon. Post the rituals, I proceed to the dining table for a rather early breakfast and having ingested much to Quaker’s joy, I throw on some clothes enough to look presentable for the mistress of the house to shoo-shoo me.

And lo, behold here comes something that should have come sixty minutes ago. Sensing my superficial willing mood, the wife excuses me from further duties. I merely look up cursing my luck on a waning Saturday morning and then proceed to, in respective order, to procedure the above-mentioned tasks. I am posting this at one on Sunday and rest assured, I had a blissful Saturday. I know I am making these blissful days extinct by committing my words to electronic print but living by the edge on a Sunday morning comes naturally to me.

More to come.

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