post phone prattle

There are moments, when I sincerely wonder why it is that I am friends with the people I'm friends with. This will not be a contemplative post on friendship and such like things. Anyone who's hanging around reading this blog in hopes of philosophical musings, uh sorry we don't do such things; kinda short supply of brains and sentiments out here. Unless I'm drunk or doped out, in which case there's likely to be no coherence. Sad toss up that. But, to return to the point of the post. This post is about the last post. Vaguely. It's an almost verbatim transcript of the bfiss and cassmortmain on the phone this morning. I've left out the not-interesting-to-the-general-public bits of course, hi-falutin stuff about personal oracles and not aantel stuff about the men on whose brothers women have crushes, but these snippets had to be recorded.

cassy : I don't see what you've gone on about. Kunal Kapoor's handome.

me : *silent gasp*

cassy (not noticing stunned silence on other end of the line) : Oh, Abhishek Bachhan's getting married. I'm so heart-broken!!

me : *gasp, gasp, shudder* What on earth! Why?!

cassy : Oh, but he's so handsome.

me (in the original UI style) : whaaaaaaaaaaaat?

cassy : What? Well, ok, maybe he's not handsome but he's hot. And Kunal Kapoor is handsome

me : What? What. The. No, he's not. Kunal Kapoor is not even hot.

cassy (stern voice of retribution) : Do you even know who Kunal Kapoor is?

me (after a hasty revision of memory, coming back all snooty voiced) : Of corse I do. He's that random guy from Rang De Basanti that random females drools over. Hah! He's not hot. Wait, I have my comp on, lemme google.

*One search later, I come up with this and return anguished to the phone*

me : Cassandra, he's greasy!

cassy : So? Just because he's greasy in Rang De Basanti doesn't mean he's greasy in real life.

me : He's greasy in the damn photograph!

cassy : Well, everyone's greasy in photographs. You think we're not?

me : (swearing under my breath...you certainly aren't woman!!) I may be, but I'm not an actor. He's greasy. And Cassy if you're going to moan about Abhishek Bachhan getting married I'm going to have to disown you.

cassy : oof, ki aantel snobbery. People don't disown friends just because they find other men hot. Besides I don't know who you are to say anything. (unbelievably accusing voice) You find Sean Connery hot.

me : *aggrieved gasp* But he is!

cassy : *verbal shrug* No he's not. And you think what's-his-name is good-looking.
(cassy, since you're reading this, I'm not accusing you of ever forgetting whatzzisname's name but let us be the discreet).

me : But he is!

cassy : *silent giggle* Whatever. But Sean Connery's not hot, he's annoying.

me : *gasp, stutter, double gasp*

cassy : And he hasn't made any decent movies recently. Have you seen Avengers? god. And he was the worst James Bond ever. He had a lisp.

me : *strangulated whisper* It wasn't a lisp. He's Shcottish.

cassy (returning to her unjustified stern voice of retribution) : Ewan McGregor's Scottish. Have you heard him speak? Sean Connery just needs speech therapy. (sound of b'fiss almost fainting) Double o sheven on hish majheshty'z shecret shervice, how ridiculous.

*At this point the mother wanders innocently into the room. All this while I've been stuttering speechless in the face of such blasphemy on behalf of best bud. Helpless I now turn with an anguished cry to the mother.*

me : Ma, I give you Sean Connery.

ma : eh? *silly grin instantly in place*

me : na mane, I didn't mean give give but the way presenters on shows do; presenting Sean Connery. What would you say to that?

*mother with pile of clothes in arms stands there gazing into distance looking faintly bemused but with a very definite silly grin on face...incidentally the women in my family are a bit like that, confront us suddenly with people we adore and overtly handsome men and we grin and look silly...but I digress, let us leave mother standing there and return to the phone*

cassy : At least that other guy you go on about is ok, what's 'is name...Yul Brynner.

*by now I'm beyond gasping. imagine fish, if you will, lying in desert, flailing tail against the terrible sandstorm and going "water, somebody get me water or at least a picture of sean connery". still this one was too much to endure*

me : What d'ya mean he's ok? He's god. Dead god but god. Immortally handsome god too.
(Incidentally I could go on about this forever but I won't. Let's just say, Yul Brynner is beyond handsome the limits of mortal fantasy. And the reason I'm not going on about this is because it would amount to perverted necrophilia of sorts. Let's just say the reason I like the thought of dying is because my heaven will have the King.)

cassy : Yes, yes; but Sean Connery I find insufferable. I tell you he needs speech therapy.

me : How dare you? Speech therapy. I ask you, speech therapy?! The man is god, you hear me. Sean Connery is bloody unforgivably handsome; he does not and I repeat he doesh not need shpeech therapy!!

*ma at this point gathers upshot of conversation and puts her silly grin on hold to say, ki bollo? speech therapy bollo? ki oshobhyo!*
(Fortunately cassandra's other manifold virtues pulled her through but for one precarious moment there I thought she'd really fallen headlong down the mother's popularity charts, for life..the mother of the fiss tends to be a bit unforgiving about these things!)
*but the mother merely sighed, shook her head evidently much aggrieved at the revelation of these unsuspected, unexpected flaws in miss mortmain's otherwise spotless-as-an-undertaker-inner-vest character and returned to her work.*

*sigh* I leave you dear reader to draw your conclusions.
Just one last clarification in small print. Irrespective of whether right now I'm mad enough at cassy to almost disown her, gentle reader, anyone speaking one word against her is likely to be found at the bottom of the ju jheel stabbed sixty five times with a very sharp kitchen knife. hehe.