I had a hostel reunion the other day. And met M after ages.
She’s a certified nut job.
She was seeing this guy in the hostel. And could never make up her mind if she wanted to sleep with him or not.
Every Sunday she’d come back from spending the day at his place, and the first question I’d ask her was, “So?”
The answer would always be no.
Obviously the guy was trying every trick in the book. And M was running out of excuses.
So finally, it boiled down to this.
One evening she came back hysterical with laughter. Apparently things got really hot and heavy. And then she suddenly realised she didn’t want to go the whole hog. And she didn’t want to hurt his feelings either.
So in the middle of him tugging at her jeans she has a brainwave and yells stop. The poor guy stops.
M looks at him and says, “ I’ve taken a mannat. You can’t touch me below my boobs.”
The guy is horrified. And of course, in the hostel we’re all collapsing with laughter.
What kind of mannat is this?
Dear God, if you make me pass my exams, I’ll only let him touch my boobs and nothing else.
Anyway M passed with flying colours. And the guy ended up marrying her.
There must be a moral to this story. Or a song that sums it up.
PS: Here’s what i’m thinking. I’m going to write every day. For one whole month. Let’s see how it goes. If you see the number of unfinished craft projects scattered around my house. Or rather hidden in the deep recesses of the huge storage cupboard which I deviously got made for exactly this purpose, you shall realise that I’m not very good at being consistent.