Sunday, October 2

Tale of A (Not So) Beautiful Morning

That was an absurd morning from very beginning. Let me admit this is not a good thing to start a story with, when you are starting a story with a morning, it got to be beautiful and romantic, with warm rays of early sunlight caressing your cheeks, birds singing in garden and morning breeze playing with your hairs or someone else’s hairs, in case you are bald-headed (Caution: “You” doesn’t address the reader specifically, please keep smiling even if you are bald-headed). But that was not a beautiful morning in any sense. How can a morning be beautiful or romantic when you are busy scratching an almost empty can of shoe polish with your nails, almost screaming teakettle in kitchen is threatening of a spillover and annoying accent of morning-show's host is pounding your mind like blacksmith’s hammer.

 I’m sure you have started thinking why didn’t I turn off the TV if host of morning show was so annoying or why didn’t I run to kitchen if I really cared about my breakfast. This is typical of gentlemen (and ladies as well) to take on “Why didn’t you …” attitude in advance when someone tells the tale of his misery. Someday, lonely at home and worried of being late for office (or something like an office, there is plenty of morning troubles on this terrible planet), cursing a boss (or something like a boss, there is also a plenty of after-morning troubles on this planet) you’ll be able to understand the constraints those rendered a gentleman so helpless to bear with all that annoyances in a single morning.

Among such annoyances, constant ringing of doorbell wasn’t less than a bombshell, nay, constant bombardment! Even if you are thinking it’s my laziness to blame for all my troubles, you’ll be agree that constant ringing of doorbell, as though there is some kind of glue on the doorbell button that has caught the ringing finger, is an annoyance that no gentleman can do anything about but tolerate it or call names. You can see the latter option was not very gentle one so I preferred the former and tried to imagine there was no door bell ringing.

Ah, but world of imagination, no matter how calm and beautiful, is not a place to live in when the ringer has intended to not lift their finger from door bell until a heart attack or something like this happens to you, or you stand up leaving all the mess messed up, to open the door. For example, I tried to imagine it wasn’t shrill of doorbell but song of a fairy to soothe me among these troubles but a very loud hiss from kitchen interrupted, the same way a villain interrupts in movies when hero and heroine are going to some beautiful place to spend their holidays, reminding that teas spill over when you are listening to songs of fairies, and you have to realize in the end that there was no fairy while you have also lost your breakfast tea. Realties are bitter and bitterer when a doorbell doesn’t stop from ringing and you have no more milk in the house in case you lost this tea.

I had to fling the empty can of shoe polish on the wall with as much force as one can afford without breakfast but I was glad I could finally mute the TV to relieve my grinding teeth from some of their toil! I’ll not hide from you, in my heart I had called the ringer with all possible names before standing up, therefore, when I opened the door I was empty minded and didn’t know how to greet the person on the other side!
The very first glimpse of the visitor made me immediately glad for the fact that I had called all the names already. Otherwise, all those names might had burst out the same way parliamentarian etiquette burst out in evening talk shows and that wasn’t going to be a pleasant thing at all. I mean, it’s not a good thing to burst out in anger at a stranger like a parliamentarian especially when the stranger is a female, or let me be more honest, only when she is a female. If the stranger is male, you can shout out the very first word that comes to your mind and then second and then third. But it is different case with woman, if male population of world have got something called politeness, manners or courteousness whatever you call it, all of credit goes to female population of this planet. I’m sure if this world comprised of male population only, every second word in dictionaries of world was going to be vulgar, though men were never going to realize their vulgarity because there would be no woman to point that out. Pardon my wordiness; you might have guessed by now that the visitor was a girl.

Above the shoulders covered in pink silk, the makeup-less face of my kind annoyer hosted a flattery smile. A shining smile, like the morning sun that could make your heart sing like early birds, only if it wasn’t very typical smile of neighbors that tells you they need something from your kitchen. If you are by chance a good neighbor, it’ll be not difficult for you to understand what I mean. If you aren’t a good neighbor by chance, put a hand mirror in your pocket and go ask your neighbor to lend you something, immediately take out hand mirror and see your face in it and then examine the expressions of your neighbor, you’ll understand what I mean.

Meeting a girl early in the morning, even when she has rang your doorbell just to borrow something from you, has all qualities to make a morning beautiful and romantic! Even when your can of shoe polish is empty and your tea is about to spill over and you are worried of being late to office and all this sort of annoyance.

“Good Morning Sir!” She said, still smiling. Her voice was kind of musical, a melodious delight for ears that can make a morning further beautiful and romantic if you are not worrying that this voice will ask for something that you can’t lend or yourself running out of that thing. Both cases imply a bad impression on the neighbor and leaving a bad impression on neighbors isn’t a good thing, especially when, nay, only when …. Leave it, I have already told you.

“Good Morning Miss …” I put a question mark on my face in order to know her name, trying meanwhile to not listen to voice of teakettle in kitchen that was threatening to deprive me of breakfast, like an angry wife. 

“Sarah!” She got the question mark and answered accordingly. “I live in the house third to your neighbor!”

I had to admire her wise speaking, saying the house third to your neighbor make it sound closer than house fourth to your home. The rule is, a pretty neighbor in the tenth door is closer than a rascal next door, and therefore, taking in consideration the rude behavior of my neighbors, she can be easily called the closest neighbor.

“Glad to meet you Miss Sarah! How can I help you?” I hadn’t a mirror at the time but I knew my smile wasn’t less flattery than her even though I didn't intend to ask for anything from her kitchen.

“Ah, so nice of you sir …” She didn’t seem mannered very much, I mean, wasn’t this better for her to say Mr. and stop and wait for me to tell her my name. Titles like sir immediately put you in a patron-like feeling and brutally harm the attributes of a romantic and beautiful morning but you can see the damage has already been done. “Can you please lend me some tea or teabags? I ran out of both items last night, it was my fault, teabags were already finished and I didn’t see the jar of tea leaves is also empty when I …..” She seemed to be a story teller, kind of people those can’t answer a single question without stretching it to ten lines, even when you haven’t asked any question at all, like, like, hmmm, typical like me, you might have guessed by reading this story.

I felt like refusing her sternly, we men have also emotions and by this virtue, got the right to refuse an ill-mannered girl when she hurts us. I’d have churned out a polite excuse if a long and loud hiss from kitchen hadn’t announced that kettle has finally acted upon its threat and tea is spilling over the stove. Only words those I could say to her were “Let me see …” and hurried to kitchen. She followed me without my consent, proving further her ill manners, though you can blame me too of ill manners for not asking her to come in. Tea is a serious matter anyway, you really can’t pay attention to who will say what when you are about to lose your tea at very breakfast.

Once something goes mischievous, everything else also turns naughty. While shock of being called sir in such a youthful age and so early in the morning was still tingling in my nerves like an electric shock, the knob of burner got jammed without any prior notice! I can swear it was working finely when I lit the stove but it wasn’t moving a single micrometer now, I tried once, twice, thrice but failed. I like to slap or punch such stupid appliances when they do such things, so I raised my hand to slap the stupid stove too, it was inevitably to result in total loss of my tea (I knew because I had once lost my dinner for slapping my stove) but you know you don’t care much for result when you are in mood of slapping someone.

Before I could slap the stove, she spoke up. “Hey, kettle is about to empty, remove it from stove first!” God, why we men aren’t given this wisdom, I mean, why it’s very difficult for a man to learn that cookware can be removed from stove first and stove can be turned off later but girls seem to know this innately by virtue of some genes. I wonder why scientists, always trying to separate this gene and that gene, don’t try to separate gene that teaches girls to remove a kettle from stove before turning it off. I bet if they ever separated this gene, there will be a good lot of single men willing to get this gene transplanted.

Click here for part 2 of this story.