Papa let’s have baked beans, my kids demanded, taken in by my exuberant mood for the afternoon, surprised and mildly disconcerted by my presence in the house for almost the entire day.
Chaloooo, I yelled back, having eyed that can in the refrigerator ever since it came to my notice, my fitness drive, calorie counting, useless knowledge that ketchup has more sugar than can humanly be consumed and that baked beans have more ketchup than beans, notwithstanding.
Can in hand, microwave switched on, Monaco biscuits lined up in a dish (no self-respecting person eats baked beans with toast. Baked beans and Monaco are like Heer-Ranjha, they are supposed to die together in your tummy) – there’s just one task remaining before the three of us get into the rat race of gobbling everything in sight.
Now, everyone has a superpower and everyone has an anti-power. Something everyone seems to be able to do seamlessly but it always ends up beyond your skillset.
Mine’s opening things.
To be fair, the way a lot of things are designed, to figure out easy ways to open them requires almost sherlockesque powers of deduction. A short list would be:
1) Shampoo pouches
2) Wine bottles
3) Baked bean cans
4) Cola cans and beer cans
5) Candy wrappers
6) Shower gel dispensors
7) Bra straps
You get the picture, don’t you? Each one of the above activities has left me teetering on the brink of insanity at least once in my life and their detailed description is beyond the scope of this dissertations. But I shall give you two succinct examples:
1) One of my friends suspects that I have a gay gene and while I have never acknowledged that, I do have many feminine traits. One of them is for a fetish exotic shower gels and shampoos and facewashes. Take me to a supermarket row where all the above are lined up and my face and my dick light up like a pimp’s in a whorehouse. I open the bottles or bring them close to my face and smell them and then carefully choose a new one every time. Our bathroom has a shower gel for me and two soaps for the two kids and after all these years I still have no clue what my wife uses as soap, probably steals the kids’ one. I never suspected this, I was always under the assumption we shared the chosen exotic shower gels. But recently she got a yummy looking purple coloured palmolive shower gel which came in a bottle with a weird dispensor. It said ‘push’ on a corner like I am fucking about to deliver and it is my gynecologist. I pushed. Nothing happened. I pushed again. Nothing. The damn thing had some sort of lock. I unscrewed the whole bottle and the damn nozzle started dripping like crazy. I shut it, sighed, poured some water into the old Forrest Essentials shower gel and managed, knowing my wizard wife was yet to bathe, she will somehow figure it out.
The next day. Push. Still locked. The hymen intact.
Now it was getting desperate for me – should I pick the Johnson baby soap or Pears? Who will take poopy soaps, I NEVER use soap.
Water shall have to do.
Finally I succumbed. Subdued my ego and asked the wife – can you please open for me?
I was wondering how you were taking a shower all these days. The bottle is locked.
Well it was shampoo one day and face wash the other and the dettol hand gel the third.
Oh you just twist and push, the wicked one said and voila, it was open, its fragrance filling the whole room and sending me into raptures of orgasmic sighs.
You can’t even open shampoo pouches, can you? Every time I give you a few when you travel or trek and you get them back intact.
No no. I use the hotel’s. I say, trying to save some face, her verbal salvo having hit the bull’s eye.
So there are shampoo bottles open in the jungle?
I manage yaar. I borrow. I don’t think they are designed to be opened without a scissor. Every time I try to tear with my teeth I get some shampoo in my mouth. It tastes yuck yaar.
There’s a mark. You tear from there.
With your hands, what else?
But my hands are wet while I am taking a shower.
You open it BEFORE you start the shower, geddit?
Ok ok. I am sure they don’t fill shampoo in half the pouches they sell, knowing no one will ever be able to open them or confess they couldn’t open them. There’s a jackpot people are making there, selling unopenable shampoo pouches….
She left before she could hear my treatise.
2) This was in our internship. We had purposely taken an extension after it got over because our families were against our relationship and we wanted to stay together after all our friends had left college.
2 weeks of horny fucking lay ahead in my head.
1st day. 6 pm. We had never yet gone beyond making out in our underwear. I am too horny and I decide to take off her bra, to see the first tits LIVE in my 23 year old life.
I use a single hand to unfasten her bra strap while looking at her to see if she would stop me. She didnt.
But it wouldn’t budge.
Two hands now.
Nothing. I try twisting, pulling, unlocking, pushing. While she keeps laughing. The liars in Hollywood movies. Or maybe Indian bras were designed by the locksmith fathers of virgin girls after much research on goats. Maybe they had keys fitted in them.
The wicked one didn’t relent that day. When I tried to take the easy way by sliding the straps down, she stopped me. And laughed.
That’s how my wife managed to get me married to her. She knew if I didn’t marry her, I would die with a regret of being so near a woman’s breasts, yet so far.
So wicked she is.
If panties had hooks, i am sure I would be a virgin even today. It’s a different story that I couldn’t get it in her the first time, but that’s for another day. That’s even more embarrassing and i will take that secret to my grave.
If they ever send me to LOST, they dont even need a jungle. All they need to do is to seal everything in cans and leave can openers around, seal everything else in shampoo pouches and wrap them with bras. Leave nubile desirable women with entry fees of unfastening bra straps.
That’s my room 101.
And no, we didn’t manage to eat the baked beans. We will get them now at night once the wicked one comes back from work.
Life is cruel, isn’t it?