(Warning: Concocted contents!)
Before you read on, watch this ad.
This happened at the clinic. I couldn’t believe I was looking at the very same lady featured in the given ad.
She looked worn out. The already size-zero figure had been reduced to some subzero size. What might have happened to the euphoric girl there? Somebody cast an evil eye on the happy family? I admit I had felt a bit green, but evil eye… no, never!
I was curious. I created an opportunity to talk to her while we were waiting for our turn. And what she told me was discomfiting, sort of.
This is the dismal side of my life these days as opposed to what you see in that ad.
When I opted for an easy clean paint for our apartment I had only one squeaky-clean intention: to safeguard the walls from the onslaught of a hyperactive father and son. The walls constantly exposed to their activities had been slightly shabby with the graffiti, murals and pardonable splashy games.
But with me around, they tried to be nice. Sometimes I felt sorry to see them restrain from their favourite games in my austere presence. So I approached the retailer in the hope of a permanent solution. The attempt was fruitful, or that was the impression I had, soon after the painting. And in the ad, you see what happened on the very first day we moved in after the paint was dry.
That was perhaps the last of my happy days. Sad that our loved ones often take our connivances for granted. What followed were dreadful scenes reminiscent of pandemonium.
Being a person as good as my word, I could not break my offer to be indulgent. As a result the games became more and more impish and unpredictable– splashy, squeezy, sprayey, what not! Without a break I have to keep on my heels cleaning the coffee stains, sprayed colours, drawings and all the possible techniques they could think of to mar the poor walls. Things get out of hand when they miss the wall and end up soiling my expensive carpet or wall hangings, which do not come under the cover of easy-clean technique.
Splashing his daily glass of milk on the wall is my son’s favourite game. He too has grown thin (like me) and become calcium-deprived. See, he fractured his hand yesterday.
The paint is darned-good. Of course cleaning has become easy, but at the cost of my leisure, my peace and my life!