I'm a star.
*flutter flutter....eyelashes batting at double speed while one hand is delicately raised before a mouth left delicately half-open in wondrous amazement.*
Oh, somebody get me the smelling salts before I wilt away and faint *fair imitation of Casabianca style heaving and moaning*
And while you're at it, get the darned mirror, cos I'm afraid my make-up's running again, even smudge proof make-up not being entirely proof to helpless tears.

Right, make-up has been touched up, I am now decked out in my sparkliest shimmering clothes [namely my beootiful long skirt which has today been accused of being a) glittery and b) a shaya]

note : all ye ignorant of the layers of clothing concealing the modesty of a decorously sari-clad indian woman kindly note a shaya is what is referred to in english as a petticoat. this is where I blush and all modest-minded people faint because I've named (and in bold) an item of inner clothing, chheeee!!

Mock my fashion consciousness at your peril though, especially my once-beloved *extra stress on once, implying past tense* cassandra, for I am the newest star on the block.

Yes,yes, thank you thank you. *bows to the screaming multitudes*

And among all that applause ringing in my ears I thought I heard the faintest strains of *what is she going on about*.

I shall now cast scornful glances in the direction of all those who are ignorant of my fame and then, because I really cannot resist letting *everyone* know, I shall explain.

*ahem ahem*....I, ladies and gentlemen *half modest blush* have been featured as the star-special-central character of this *moderately brilliant* blogger's post.

Pray feel free to read it. Of course before you go dashing off in hordes may I issue a warning, this is not meant for those who are susceptible to heart-attacks (minor or not). Also not for those with any sort of pain in the region of your spine or ribs or wherever because this is seriously side-splittingly funny. If my facial muscles are aching right this moment it's not only because I have the slightly fatuous all-pearlies-on-display smile of the new centre of attention seeking starlet but because I've been laughing since i read the damn post, about six hours ago.
And once you're done reading please, please add this blogger to your link lists because she's one of the finer writers I've ever seen (I'm the soul of generosity you understand)

Of course some *ahem* clarifications seem to be required to protect the character of this fish :

1) The seventh cigarette mentioned was not my seventh cigarette *rainbeau you utter a word here and you will land up in the jheel* I of course have quit smoking. Quite.

2) The bit about my being a mathemagician seems uncalled for. Just because I was the only one in our batch of english honours students to take maths as my subsidiary subject and managed to pass it at one go *reportedly a next-to-impossible task for lesser mortals* I do not see any reason to bring it up. *Ahem*, I am of course not trying to bring my mathematical genius to the forefront here by repeatedly emphasizing the fact that I was called a mathemagician by Rainbeau, I'm just trying to tell my readers that I'm not quite a magician at math. I manage with the basics of 2+2=3 but that I'm sure *anyone* could do.

3) And as for stringing him a chain of flowers! *seriously indignant look* Rainbeau my dear, fond as I am of you, you must realize that I do not consider the stars to be God's own daisies chain and I wouldn't ever dream of stringing him a crown of flowers. Good grief girl, do I *look* like a love-besotted callow youth to you?! Me, flowers? Hah, what a joke! Please note, flowers are girly things. No go. I, for one, am well aware that a man of genius worthy of adoration, like the professor in question, could only be crowned with laurel, baize and oak leaves. And anyway green leaves would look far more resplendant on his noble brow. And green does look so good on him no. Did you notice the green shirt he was wearing yesterday....oh ma, he looked so amazing..erm...I wasn't gushing you understand, and I was not giggling right now!!

4) And finally the love me love me not section of the story is of course entirely a fabrication on Rainbeau's part. Not her fault, poor child, all languages sound greek to her. I might have muttered something like te amo, but that pray note is Latin !!

after-thought : I realize this particular post is screaming for attention a little louder than usual....hmm.....could it be that I too am influenced by the peeping tots of the world who perpetually squeak for attention....*horror* or could it be that I'm looking for some vitriolic attention as this ever-charming lady promises.
Then again maybe I'm just trying to grab the attention of this one knight in shining armour who might have been apprenticed to the guild of thieves, a thief of hearts if not of time.