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That Time of the Year Again

JAM asked Fat Cat to write an article for our anniversary issue. And this is what he came up with…

You are sitting at home thumbing through TV channels. Nonchalantly. Not a care in the world. A few minutes later you hear the gentle tinkling of your doorbell. You smile. It is your girlfriend… your better half. The belle of the ball. You pull up yourself from the beanbag, shove the magazines and DVDs under the sofa out of her sight, and trot over to the door. You twist the knob and there she stands in front of you.

She looks captivating in a pink t-shirt and beige jeans. A whiff of expensive imported perfume wafts through your nostrils straight into your heart. She smiles at you in that most endearing fashion of hers. She flicks that naughty lock of hair over her eyebrow with wave of her right hand.

“Hi!” you say beaming.

“Congratulations sweetheart!” she chirps, throwing her arms around you. The seconds that follows is a true moment of truth. As you stand there inhaling the heady scent of her fruit-based ‘body and shine’ shampoo looking over her shoulder you wonder why she has congratulated you. You haven’t achieved anything of note recently. Well you did finally manage to download that Paris Hilton video last night. But surely she is ignorant of that. She pushes you into your flat and then lets go of you. She stands back and holds forward a small gift-wrapped box. A gift? Oh god. But why? Gulp.

“This is for you! And what did you get me?”

Good god. You look at her. You swallow. She notices. Her eyebrows go up in surprise. The smile turns into a stare and finally into a scowl.

“You forgot? You forgot! You forgot again?!”

Of course you had. There was no questioning that. You had forgotten. Completely. Utterly. Shamelessly. Oh shit. But that wasn’t the only problem. Oh god no. To top it all you had no idea what you had forgotten.

Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“You moron! You still have no idea do you?”

“No no baby. Of course I know what it is all about. I was just pulling your leg. Congratulations sweetheart.”

Her scowl tightens. “Ok. Then what did you get me? I got you a watch.”

Your fingers tighten around the box. Your eyes dart around the room. Your mind takes a quick inventory of the quintessentially bachelor-like room. “It is a surprise baby. How could I have forgotten? You think I am an idiot?”

Just when you think she might be pacified she does it. The most drastic move in her repertoire of “You screwed up” indicators. She stands with one foot forward her arms akimbo. No! Not the arms akimbo! Aaargh.

You frantically look around for a gift-type thing. Half-eaten pizza. Two pairs of boxers. A toothbrush you have no idea belongs to whom but have used nonethless. Your laptop is on the table. There are a few CDs lying around. Eureka! Please God let this work.

“Here baby I was writing this CD just for the both of us so we can celebrate this great day”. You still have no idea what she is alluding to. But what the heck. You clumsily grab a CD from the heap on the table and hold it out with both hands. “The stationary shop will deliver a personalized CD cover tonight…”

She plucks the CD from your hands with contempt and reads the label written with black marker. She looks up at you and smiles. “Thank you so much…”

You the man, you tell yourself. You the man! You step forward to close the issue with a hug. She steps forward.

She smashes the CD on the softish bit on the top of your head. The CD explodes into half a dozen shiny slivers. You have tears in your eyes.

“Thank you so much moron for the Paris Hilton video. You nincompoop…” She spins around and makes for the door. “We are through. I am never looking at your stupid face again… “

You look down at the floor. You feel terrible for yourself. Of course! Your anniversary. THE anniversary. How could you forget? Damn.

You look at the CD in your hand. Basic Instinct 2. You slip it into the CD player. What the heck. There is always another chance next year.

– Sidin Vadukut

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