I love bell jar. In fact I love reading anything written by crazy fantastic women. I just devoured Emma Forrest's Your Voice In My Head in one night and just when I thought I was going to go slightly insane - I picked up Plath's novel. And I realised that if I were to ever write my own Bell Jar, it would in all probabilities be called Hamster Cage since it would involve a lot of eating and then running round and round in the park later, and also on a deeper level - there is the cage I am trapped in - because sure, I can be deep too.
Thursday 23 June 2011
Friday 17 June 2011
Europe
I was fifteen when I went to Europe with my mom and dad. Like any fifteen-year-old, I would sit at the backseat of the coach listening to songs of angst and woe. But my parents were delirious about being in Eu-whoop-a-doo-dee-rope and more than that they were insanely enthusiastic about "EXPOSING" me to culture. I italicised and capslocked that word - because that is exactly what my mother sounded like when saying it. "Bubbles we are EXPOSING you to the culture," she'd say, grabbing at my earplugs and pointing out of the window. Look snow-capped mountains. Look dense forests. LOOK paintings. KEEP LOOKING. God forbid you ever stop looking!!!!!
My parents were like two kids let loose in Disneyland. They wanted to eat everything, and try everything and (shudder) take pictures of every single thing. I tagged along like a brat, saying "Mooooooom" - and screaming "Stop you're embarraasssiiinnnggg me" to my dad every time he tried to get me to say something on his video camera. (My dad loves videotaping holidays. And my mom loves talking on camera. Like, trust me, the whole of Europe - After the tour guide was done explaining the monument's history and geography, my mother would quote it verbatim on tape, while posing next to the site. I still don't know how she memorised everything he said so quickly.)
So, while thinking about this trip today, I wondered if they did what they did on purpose? I mean, why else would any parent do that to their fifteen-year-old daughter?
They took me to Hooters.
It wasn't the fact that they took me to Hooters. Although sitting with your parents watching women walking around in their underwear is really really disconcerting. It was the fact that they sat their acting like fifteen-year-olds (Note The Irony) - giggling and nudging each other while stealing glances at the waitresses. When one of them came to ask for our order my dad said, "A coffee, thank you." Maybe it was the giggling or the nudging or the fact that a family of three was sitting their and ordering a single cup of coffee between them - the waitress gave us the dirtiest look.
"A coffee, dad, seriously? You got us all the way here for a coffee. You get coffee everywhere!!"
"Beta," my mom said. "We just wanted to show you Hooters. It is very famous. How much time do you think it takes them to apply all that makeup? Bubbles LOOK!"
"Look at what ma!"
"Look at those big breasts!"
That coffee cost us quite a few euros, a situation my parents would have ideally cribbed about. But their was an odd glow to their faces. It was like a Mastercard ad in the making:
Tickets to Madam Tussauds : ..... euros
Cab ride from hotel to nearest KFC: ...... euros
Discussing Hooter waitress' boobs with 15-year-old daughter: priceless
My parents were like two kids let loose in Disneyland. They wanted to eat everything, and try everything and (shudder) take pictures of every single thing. I tagged along like a brat, saying "Mooooooom" - and screaming "Stop you're embarraasssiiinnnggg me" to my dad every time he tried to get me to say something on his video camera. (My dad loves videotaping holidays. And my mom loves talking on camera. Like, trust me, the whole of Europe - After the tour guide was done explaining the monument's history and geography, my mother would quote it verbatim on tape, while posing next to the site. I still don't know how she memorised everything he said so quickly.)
So, while thinking about this trip today, I wondered if they did what they did on purpose? I mean, why else would any parent do that to their fifteen-year-old daughter?
They took me to Hooters.
It wasn't the fact that they took me to Hooters. Although sitting with your parents watching women walking around in their underwear is really really disconcerting. It was the fact that they sat their acting like fifteen-year-olds (Note The Irony) - giggling and nudging each other while stealing glances at the waitresses. When one of them came to ask for our order my dad said, "A coffee, thank you." Maybe it was the giggling or the nudging or the fact that a family of three was sitting their and ordering a single cup of coffee between them - the waitress gave us the dirtiest look.
"A coffee, dad, seriously? You got us all the way here for a coffee. You get coffee everywhere!!"
"Beta," my mom said. "We just wanted to show you Hooters. It is very famous. How much time do you think it takes them to apply all that makeup? Bubbles LOOK!"
"Look at what ma!"
"Look at those big breasts!"
That coffee cost us quite a few euros, a situation my parents would have ideally cribbed about. But their was an odd glow to their faces. It was like a Mastercard ad in the making:
Tickets to Madam Tussauds : ..... euros
Cab ride from hotel to nearest KFC: ...... euros
Discussing Hooter waitress' boobs with 15-year-old daughter: priceless
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