Crying Wolf

“Paati, where’s my food?” She ran hurriedly to the kitchen and asked, while combing her hair and trying to get her watch on the right way.

“I didn’t make it today, Blot…”

“Uh oh… Why not? I told you I like eating it before rushing to Pig Sty!” Her nerves started to stand on edge. Things had actually been perking up at home of late, quite unlike those days when getting what you knew was good for you was well nigh impossible. Looks like the trend may be reversing.

“Well, you didn’t eat it yesterday, so I thought you didn’t like the idea anymore.”

“So if I don’t do something for a day, it means I’ve completely lost interest in it and I wouldn’t want to keep at it?” Her knee-jerk temper started its usual bubbling.

“Well, I thought it was like your usual habit of doing something for four days and then growing bored with it, and I didn’t want to waste the food around the house…”

The girl who cried enough takes after the boy who cried wolf.

She displays a strong streak of masochism. No taking razor blades to enjoy the sight of her life dripping away, but perhaps a less physical equivalent of the same.

Which reminds me. Pig Sty awaits my arrival at its not-so-hallowed portals. Why do my legs feel like lead, and my stomach as queasy as it is before I make an appearance onstage?


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