… is not a dog, to put a common misconception to rest. It is, on the contrary, a very nicely-blended mix of scotch and soda, with lots of ice. 😀
I had been to a cocktail-dinner party last night at a seedy pub in a city, which had seen better days and the food left a lot to be desired. I wasn’t dressed appropriately, I had a bad headache, I had no intentions/interest/inclination/mood to attend the party, and yet, I had to go to fulfill certain commitments. Sigh, it’s been such a sad week so far, a week in which I reached a few decisions that I hope are the right ones and avoided a few more than I hope to avoid all my life! 😀
So, anyway, let me not get sidetracked. I’ll come back to the seedy dinner party last night, where I was sitting around, watching the horny cameramen take snaps of those vile and vulgar Page 3 crowd, and thought to myself, “Nikhil, you’re here, amidst a bevy of apparently hot chicks and over-fed, rich men and you’re wearing a dirty white shirt with sweat stains on the sleeves, a pair of trousers that are frayed around every corner and some weirdly horrifying pair of floaters – what’re you missing?”
Pat came the reply – a drink! 😀
I made my way to the crowded bar, where they were giving away free drinks, and I got myself a scotch and soda, and sat back and enjoyed the fake smiles around me. I watched the facade as a couple of dumb publicity hounder chicks in short skirts come up to me and say, “Hey, you are from…?”
I looked at them and said, “No, I am Nikhil,” and gave them my best I’m-not-interested smile.
They got the message and stopped following me around. Every room I entered in that pub, the terribly omnipresent Page 3 crowd was busy hugging complete strangers and getting their photo taken. And the photographers from these cheesy tabloids couldn’t get enough of them! “Get a room,” I wanted to scream out, when I realized that they had!! 😀
Anyway, I came back home around midnight from the party, and the only faithful companion throughout the party was my ever-present glass of scotch and soda. And when on my way back through the hauntingly empty streets of the city at midnight, a pair of dogs chased me, barking their lungs out, for almost two kilometers and that was when I decided that a man’s best friend is not really a dog. Dogs tend to change loyalties the minute someone offers them a juicier bone.
In a way, street dogs and those Page 3 photographers are similar – one is a filthy cross-breed that lurks the streets of town searching for a juicy ‘bone,’ and the other is a street dog! 😀
(Yikes!! Too vulgar?) 😀
Image Courtesy: Soumik
(Sourced from Google Image Results. I do not know this person!)