Last night we set out to watch Loins Of Punjab Presents, post the frenzy of the match. But my friend got her movie information wrong, and at 10.30 pm at night we did our best to convince the guy in the gang to watch No Reservations. He had serious reservations about watching a chick flick, Catherine or no Catherine.
So, we headed to TGIF and I ended up demolishing off a bowl of the crispiest French Fries ever, in a jiffy.
The concept of French Fries per se, I detest, because they don’t have the type of nutritional content that is meant to be consumed by someone like me – you know, sit on your fat arse all day, cause you type for a living. However, having said that, it is better to polish off a plate of well-made French Fries, rather than soggy excuses for carbs deep-fried in fat.
Meanwhile an old friend from school joined us for burgers and diet coke. Her twin sis, she and I went to school together in Muscat. We began reminiscing about how when we were five, all three of us, along with four other little girls from kindergarten had to doll up in bright pink dresses with frills, and rouge up the cheeks for the school play.
If I remember correctly, there was a king and we were part of his court.
“I think we were meant to be his keeps,” my friend observed.
