The end of a week

It’s been an interesting end  of an interesting week, what with the Man-Child stating- ‘I’ve decided to wait for you!’ and my replying in my usual bitchy manner,  ‘baate itni badiyaa karta he, ladkiyaan kitni jaldi fasti hongee, na!’ That too, to a Bengali man with a British accent. I hope my crassness turns him off but I’m out of luck. Why may a sane person ask, do I need to behave like this? Better to be safe than sorry, right?

Each time we go out he insists on calling it a date and I insist it isn’t. So for his last night in the country, I decide to show him what a date with me would be like. The exact opposite of what a man would want! We go to a club in C.P, which is loud, has the sleaziest crowd and is playing Punjabi songs. He’s so uncomfortable and squermish but oh so charming, he’s never going to say it. I’m my  non-committal, ambiguous self. Over coffee- a couple of nights earlier, I’ve used all my verbal tactics. Move 1- State all your flaws. Move 2- Speak in a tone that confuses the other party. Move 3- This is the hat trick, dig out the specific instances from the past that can make a person flee. But to no avail. Either, he’s known me too long or he just doesn’t scare that easy. So, on ‘date night’, I up the ante and use silence.

But all he says is this, ‘You know what a man needs to have, to be with you- balls of steel. ‘Cause you’re going to hurt him, everywhere. You’re a pain in all the wrong places. You push people and don’t let anyone in. But yore so addictive and the man you end up with is going to be so lucky.’ A part of me is so flattered… another so damn weary. Nothing I say or do intimidates him, which makes him a rarity. As I drive back home, I’m glad he’s leaving. ‘You just got saved by the bell’, I think to myself.


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