A Knights tale of a Night

I sensed its start two posts ago.
Faint undercurrents of resentment and irritation.
Most of the comments left on my blog made mention of the owner’s perception of my sanity level. How else did one go about explaining a blog post whose main objective was a lesson in philosophy? A flawed lesson at that too.
Reading through the comments I realized that I was facing a rebellion. It seemed people had a serious problem with the turn my blog posts where taking. Who blogged about football? It just didn’t make sense. What sort of madness was this? Where they being punked? Was Carl just a pseudonym for Ashton Kutcher?
Possibly.

The Bottom line I figured, as I sat reading the comments, was that I would have to soon make a return to what was perceived as normal. Enough ridiculous blogs about the logic of Afro babe being Jlo (I am yet unchanged on that stand) and the ridiculous and hopeless state of our nation’s football outing (I am changed on that.).
What everyone wanted to hear was normal stuff.
About normal me.
However abnormal that might be.

And so I submit for your perusal another weird day in the life of me.

A while ago Stolich invited me over.
She had less than 30 seconds of airtime so she rushed her plea.
She was having an exflame come visit her and she was worried that without a chaperone there was a very good chance that she would yield to the inevitable advances of the charming gentleman. Apparently her last roll with him in the hay had been that memorable.
Would I please please come over?
It was really important.
Please?
And then she hung up.

Ever the gullible bloke for a damsel in distress call, I tossed my books aside, grabbed my PSP and hobbled over to Stolich’s room.
Stolich lived in some self contained room which contained the essentials for a struggling student. She had a bathroom which never seemed devoid of lingerie hanging boldly in the corner.
Every time I went in to take a leak I felt like I was in some Victoria Secret store boldly defacing the Mecca of erotica. Also attached to her room was a kitchen. I secretly considered this my favorite place in her apartment. Stolich had a mad love for cooking. True her choice of meals where limited. Noodles. Porridge and soup and noodles but seeing as I was always hungry most of the times, gourmet selection was the least of my problems.
Plus there was the fact that if there was anyone who stood a chance in beating me for the heavily contended Best fan of coca cola. It was Stolich. She always had a bottle of coke in her fridge.

I headed straight for the kitchen as I walked in.
“The coke bandit returns. Someone call the Sherriff.” Stolich muttered to herself. She was seating down watching some ridiculous movie called Perfume: The story of a murderer.
I shrugged of the insult. You do what you have to do.
Is he here yet?
I yelled from the kitchen, staring at her through the connecting window..
She shook her head and continued on the movie.
No hugs. No wild thank yous for coming over after a 20 second plea. Just faint interest in the fact that I was drinking her coke. Who cares about Carl?
The elements of great friendship.

We both sat and watched the movie to its depressing end. After a couple of minutes I realized that the darkness and gloom was not just a reflection of our state of mind. It was late.
“I guess he didn’t come again after all.” I said.
Stolich had a sad look on her face. Like successfully escaping being tempted to cheat on her boyfriend wasn’t the best thing to have happened to her today.

We chatted idly about a couple of things.
I confessed that I had a fear of picking up the soap in the bathroom because I sensed that homosexual ghosts, hanging out in the bathroom, were probably waiting for such an opportunity. She told me that she felt Jessica Alba was sexy. I argued that given the gravity and sincerity of my confession she would have to tell me something just as damning.
Like say, she was secretly a sixty year old man who had undergone an age reversal operation followed by a sex transplant. And thus went out mild persiflage for another 30 minutes. I visited her fridge one more time , ignoring her pleas for mercy.
After two bottles of coke though I was beginning to feel like maybe I would have to visit her Lingerie room.
I was about to announce gently that I would have to soon leave when suddenly there was a loud hump at the door followed by a soft knock.
The time was 8pm.

Stolich looked wildly at me. Her eyes all lit with delight. There was a ridiculous smile on her face. I found myself half hoping that it was the gateman at the door. It would be nice to see if she would remain as thrilled as she was.
“It’s him.”
She whispered fiercely. Arms flaying in the air like she was some 5 year old who had tumbled downstairs on Christmas eve only to find Santa seating in her favorite chair and watching that most annoying of shows. Teletubbies.
I gave a shrug. I had never been much of a fan of Santa ever since he failed to deliver on my request for Angelina Jolie.
“Get the door.” she whispered and to stress her point she pushed me towards it.
I sighed softly. For the umpteenth time I swore to review my friendship. Some people just didn’t appreciate me anymore. I wondered if it was okay to advertise in a magazine for a friend.
Maybe Playboy?
Prince charming was at the door.
2 inches over my 6ft, His entire frame was all clad in vaguely visible muscle beneath the Tshirt he wore.
He had the same ridiculous grin that Stolich had sported only minutes earlier. I had the satisfaction of watching it disappear.
Who are you? He blurted out.
Her father.
Her boyfriend’s best friend.
Her boyfriend’s father’s best friend.
A long list of possible answers swept through my mind.
But I did the annoying polite charming thing and said.
“Carl. Please to meet you.”

There was a flurry of movement behind me and Stolich appeared. I was stunned. She had done that girl thing again. Somehow in 30 seconds, she had changed, applied makeup, brushed her hair, used up, what seemed her entire bottle of perfume and was here gushing over Mr. Annoying Nameless bloke. Her pose all natural and degage. Like it was normal to still have perfect lipstick at 8.17 pm.
Quickly breezing by me she gave me an introduction.
“This is Carl. My good friend. He is almost like a brother to me”
Brother? I stared in shock. That was it. Come tommorow i was advertising for a new best friend.
I watched Captain Annoying give me a satisfied smirk as he processed the information.
Good friend. Brother. Nothing to worry about. Just another loser.
“Please to meet you." He said softly.
He'd probably sat in front of a tape recorder until he got just the right note. Soft enough to hint at the effeminte and yet still retain the strength and vibes of Barry White.
Beside me I could feel Stolich’s pulse quicken at the sound of his voice. I couldn’t see her face but I sensed Guy Smiliey was back on.
“Oh come on in.” She chirped happily.
He gave me a condescendingly triumphant smile--See how much your sister loves me-- and stepped into her apartment.
And then, to seal my dislike for him, he gave her a hug that lasted almost 3 minutes
Stolich had obviously forgotten the game plan. She had forgotten that she had a boyfriend 3000 miles away.
“God I’ve missed you. “ She said.
He looked at me with a twinkle.
I felt like running into her Victoria's secret toilet and strangling him with one of her lingerie.
The Pink one.
Instead i smiled back at him.

I made up my mind on the spot.
No one was getting laid tonight.

To be Contd.