June 4, 2013

I am a confused potato.

The kind of potato that has decided to plop herself down on a comfortably-numb couch smack in front of the Life-TV. Potato-philosophy is fairly simple, I find. The main objective of this assignment is to wait, and to watch without really doing anything. The watching, I believe, is the ultimate reward of potato-ing, because if you give it enough time - without doing absolutely anything - then something good will eventually pop onto the screen. And even if it doesn't, you're in a good place - sequestered on your plump-cushy-couch protecting your little-potato-brain against undue tension.

You know the kind of tension that may be created when you find out from mango-boy you have yawn-inducing conversations with, that his mother is flying down to Pakistan in a few months from now - ostensibly to meet with yours. This (as you will find if you have the opportunity to hit the 3'oh in the Islamic Republic without attaching yourself to the man-of-your-parents-dream) is somewhat worrying as it inevitably leads to elevated expectations followed by plans for wedding-dress shopping. Which is not in itself a bad thing except you suspect that life with mango-boy might be suicide inducing. I mean there are only so many days when you can talk about the weather without wishing you could be struck by a convenient bolt of lightning. Also, you realize that despite months of trying (very hard) there seems to be nothing vaguely redeemable about this specimen. You also find it incredibly ironic how his high-pitched-nasal-laughter in real life is just as horribly annoying as it's digital counterpart, i.e. the famous 'lol'.

But even as you begin to worry about the dangers of coasting, you calm down and remind yourself that what you are is a potato. And potatoes don't panic, they don't do anything. They sit around and they watch while the drama unfolds in front of them. Potatoes are not in the driving seat, the are squarely in the passenger seat, maybe-with-the-seat-belt-on. Potatoes coast, and they vegetate and they are usually found buried deep under the surface close to where ostriches put their heads when they want to hibernate. Point is, potatoes do not get tense about potentially being forced (albeit through tacit assent) to marry a mango-boy. Also, even if they did get find themselves at the altar, I believe potatoes would be absolutely fine with any sort of arrangement. Potatoes, if you notice, don't complain much. They adapt to everything.

And they taste good too. 

2 comments:

Naveed said...

How come Mango Boy has not yet Google-ed you, looked at your blog, and after realizing that he is the famous "Mango Boy" and how you think of him....has not yet lost interest....

Xeb said...

I have no idea! The potato-brain refuses to think about these things. Happy coincidence, perhaps?