Why I love male colleagues better

Prompt: What you don't know (Used in sentence)

 

Pic: Pixabay

When I landed in Dubai, 17 years ago, apart from adapting to the new work genre, I also struggled to ‘fit-in’. If learning the trade of logistics was hard enough, then I wobbled finding my trendy feet. And because I was determined to hold my nose high up in the air, it was a tight-rope walk atop slippery ice.

Hiding my weakness was my strength, then. What you don't know, stove it under the carpet - was my foolish mantra. I was NOT this me. I doubt if I even had an iota of the current me inside myself then. But, then, if I knew what I know now, I would not be what I am now. Okays?

Well, we had among us one Indian female, a prima donna I called her (only in my head). When we greeted one another with a good morning, she would walk-in, bouncing off her tresses from one side of her shoulder to the other and rubbing her derriere, "hey, is the line showing!" She was one panty-obsessed woman. She had such knowledge about the different brands, the texture, cut and fit of undies, I initially wondered if she was a lingerie sales woman before.

But soon, I garnered she was one helluva detail-conscious nerd about anything personal. She smelled tea but did not drink it; nibbled on pizza but did not bite into it; bought chocolates but distributed it... she only had carrot juice for breakfast, fruits for lunch and salads for dinner. Liar! She might be hogging before she comes to work, I thought.

Every Sunday morning, she hopped on to the weighing machine naked and measured her waist with her tattered school belt!

One day she wanted to treat us. We joined her on one condition that she would EAT. Eat a proper meal. So, the two men and four women of our team headed to a Thai restaurant. It was my first time. I mimicked an order placed by the luminary herself.

“Omg! Such thick chillies!” I exclaimed when served.

Miss perfecto, seated right opposite me, giving me a smirk, delicately pricked into one thick green from her plate and maneuvered it between her painted lips in a manner that would put a classical dancer to shame.

“Too much spice is not good for your tummy!” I advised, impatient to share my knowledge.

Pricking into another, she announced, “This is asparagus, Nisha. Loaded with vitamins. A healthy green,” she swirled her jaws, “Umm…I… love… it!”

The women laughed, as if they were born on asparagus beds. One of the men said, “It’s a tasteless stem, don’t bother eating Nisha.” The other changed the topic instantly.

This is why I love men!

But I loved myself more, even then. So I was determined to bite even.

“We should have ordered bro-co-li soup,” I chimed as best as I could.

“Anyone for broccoli soup,” announced Miss Perfecto, into my eyeballs, “Bro-Co-li flushes out E-Co-li off your system.”

Thanks to her, I took to studying phonetics with a vengeance...and importantly I no more shy away from admitting what I don't know.

I am with Team #CrimsonRush for the #BarAThon from 1st to 7th August 2016

Mingling with husband’s women colleagues

So there was yet another get-together this weekend and I was at my social best. From picking up the right ear drops to matching my dress to selecting the footwear that stood me at a decent height with my better half, I carefully planned my evening before setting out to play the guest wife.

The venue: One of the husband’s colleague’s living room; The group: His office friends cum colleagues. Occasion: Informal hang-out with families of a formal group.

We were the first couple to arrive and the host greeted us with all their freshness. A 20-minute of individual attention I enjoyed, when walked in the next couple. I shifted from my place to sit opposite facing the new arrival. The woman started off hurriedly about the invitees expected. I was quiet to give her time to finish gossiping before the accused arrived. When she stopped to breathe, I asked, how she was, and she replied something on the lines, ‘always fine’.

I smiled.

Then three women arrived and sat with the earlier one on the two-seater sofa. I shifted from my earlier position and pulled a chair and sat rubbing my knees to one of them.  

Then the volley started. The one in the centre said, ‘That areshole, what does he think of himself…' and I pitched in that I have an equally stinking boss. They smiled and one at the extreme left said, ‘Don’t know why teachers give projects. I have no time…' and I pitched in that kids need to be made self-sufficient. They smiled reluctantly, and the extreme right said, ‘I’m joining the online networking group. Easy money, that is…' and I pitched in that one needs to be shameless. They almost smiled, and the one second from left said, ‘I’m planning to go on an all-carb diet. Look at this tummy…' and I pitched in that diets don’t work. They ignored me.

In between arrived the star attraction of the group. She sat 30 inches away from the foursome, 15 inches to my right. Every time, she spoke, one of the sofa-seaters voiced her thoughts by leaning over to poke her. In quick succession, the other nudged her thigh and started, ‘You know what…’. Three minutes later, another scratched her hand, and said, ‘Did you hear…’ One minute later, her feet was kicked at, and said, “By the way...”

The act continued until dinner was served and I rushed to grab the two-seater. My three seat-sharers started the menu dissection. Spare a thought for the hostess, I said and they ignored me scooping one another’s dessert over my plate.

In the wee hours, when we bid our byes, they opened their arms and craned their necks. Refusing to smell their earlobes, I waved my manicured fingers, instead and smiled.

The next evening when the husband returned from work, he said, “They think you are a stuck-up person.”

I smiled.

PS: All puns unintented because I prefer being stuck-up to sticking out!