The Morning Massacre
Okay. Here's a question.
What's the most disturbing thing you've ever done in the morning?
Running to the loo with a bad case of loosies? Discovering a kitchen full of fresh rat-droppings to clean? Finding a hand other than your own nestling cosily in your armpit?
Normally, I'd have picked any of those.
For a few weeks now, the first thing I do every morning is exorcise my inbox from matrimonial mails. From wedding sites that gleefully present profiles of potential grooms for my perusal. And some from the potential grooms in question, that try to winsomely win me over. Most of whom seem to staunchly believe that grammar and punctuation are things that happen to other people.
That's right, folks. The pater and the mater have gone as mad as the Hatter and I must go through this horror as a result. You cannot imagine what it feels like to sit by and watch meekly as your parents create your profile on a matrimony website. Or the chills that run up your spine when your father, your hero, the reason for your existence, keeps pointing excitedly at various profiles, saying things like, "Look! He has a PhD in Nanotechnology!" and "Ooh, he's settled in Houston! You can settle in the States!"
FYI: Saying "This isn't happening to me" just doesn't work anymore.