This afternoon, feeling a bit peckish, the wife insisted we go to Masala Zone for some fortification. The usual procedure when we get there is as follows: before we have been seated, the wife orders two mango lassis (one for the boy, one for me), a chaas for herself, a regular vegetarian thali with two chapatis on the side for herself, and then looks impatiently at me. When she is hungry, she is not to be delayed or otherwise trifled with. Were I to ask for a masala burger, as I sometimes do, she sighs and drums her fingers loudly on the table.
A masala burger, you understand, takes a few extra minutes to prepare. The woman can't wait that long.
Meanwhile, the boy is content to sit quietly on his high-chair only as long as the mango lassi lasts. We desperately hope that the food arrives before he finishes his lassi. Invariably, we are disappointed. By then, the boy is desperate to perambulate about the premises and introduce himself to all the other diners. On occasion, he asks to be taken to the loo.
Today, for cryin' out loud, the little tyke wanted to poop. I lost my appetite immediately. The wife pointed us to the stairs leading to the toilet, I heaved a great sigh of resignation, and the boy and I went away. the wife pigged out in peace and quiet and considerable satisfaction. She then ordered gulab jamuns for us.
The boy and I got back to the table and we waited for the dessert.
"I'm getting gulab jamun for you," said the wife, ingratiatingly caressing the boy's cheek. "Do you remember gulab jamun? It's the little brown balls."
The boy was indignant. Loudly, he exclaimed, as we attempted to bury ourselves ten feet deep, and the other diners headed silently for the exits:
"But I flushed!"
A masala burger, you understand, takes a few extra minutes to prepare. The woman can't wait that long.
Meanwhile, the boy is content to sit quietly on his high-chair only as long as the mango lassi lasts. We desperately hope that the food arrives before he finishes his lassi. Invariably, we are disappointed. By then, the boy is desperate to perambulate about the premises and introduce himself to all the other diners. On occasion, he asks to be taken to the loo.
Today, for cryin' out loud, the little tyke wanted to poop. I lost my appetite immediately. The wife pointed us to the stairs leading to the toilet, I heaved a great sigh of resignation, and the boy and I went away. the wife pigged out in peace and quiet and considerable satisfaction. She then ordered gulab jamuns for us.
The boy and I got back to the table and we waited for the dessert.
"I'm getting gulab jamun for you," said the wife, ingratiatingly caressing the boy's cheek. "Do you remember gulab jamun? It's the little brown balls."
The boy was indignant. Loudly, he exclaimed, as we attempted to bury ourselves ten feet deep, and the other diners headed silently for the exits:
"But I flushed!"
2 comments:
LOL.
Makes me remember your tomatoes 'Joke'.
This was scatalogical treat man. Keep it up! You could even contribute the piece to Readers Digest and get some moola. How about it?
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