So mango-boy of today wasn't horrible (I suppose). He was tall - this my mother triumphantly informed me as soon as I entered my house an hour and a half later loaded down with baggage. He was also foreign-returned having spent the last decade somewhere in Germany. He was accomplished with a fancy sounding degee in something to do with alternative energy. He was balding - but as mommy said in his defense - most boys nowadays are a little lacking in the hair department. It must be something to do with the water. But there was nothing vaguely interesting about him, and while we were having the obligatory one-on-one conversation all I could think of was can someone just get me out of here and give me a hot cup of tea? He, on the other hand kept wanting to talk and repeatedly stressed that he was going to come to Islamabad 'soon'.
And at the end of another fatiguing session I realize that there's nothing 'wrong' with him (is there ever?), and I get exhausted trying to pick out faults. The simple truth is, there's nothing 'right' about him either. And right now, I'm just very much in charity with Wilbur Sargunaraj when he says: "mummy daddy, I vant a lowe marriage"