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DARLING, THANKS FOR THE SPACE,

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Daily Dose By Bikram Vohra

Husband WifeMy wife and I are currently staying in a swank hotel. No, let me rephrase that. We are in the same room in which she has 93% of the space and I have the rest. This division is not inclusive of the bathroom which hovers around 98.4%… hers. First, there is a parade of tubes, containers, jars, pastes, goos and sundry containers, all lined like soldiers waiting  for inspection.

In one corner is my shaving cream and razor sand toothpaste.

With a sort of carnival spirit various pieces of feminine clothing hang from various places like bunting and there is a constant hunt for ‘lost’ items like the pink blouse, not this one, the pinkkkkkkkkkkkkkk one, it was here a minute ago.

Everything was here a minute ago.

Now, if you are home, you can leave the room. Here, you are trapped by female congestion and whim.

Open the cupboard and there is a whole army of shoes, looking like those paired animals getting onto the Ark.

So I say, you brought nine pairs of shoes for three days. I am told I won’t understand. Too right.

Then they go shopping. So about 11 bags are added to the collection of stuff which would now make for a sound start for a museum. The lounging chairs are covered with ‘options’ for each wedding function. You have no idea which outfit will make the cut and which will be cut. The blow dryer rests like a gun on your  side of the bed. Chargers snake across the room. Pieces of  jewellery, bobpins, hair curlers, rubber bands and hair brushes are left around like something the last wave stranded on the sand.

Then they start to get ready. First the eyeliner. Then the eyebrow pencil. Then the foundation. Then the lipstick. Then the gloss. Then the powder. Then the hair. Then a remake up of all the make up. Then the perfume.

After which they don’t like what they are wearing, so five ironed items are tossed aside for a sixth which has now to be ironed and that space shrinks as the ironing board is yanked out.

After which we fight about who has the plastic card key… the plastic card key having a motor in its mind and pushing off to some adventure every few minutes. Through all this the TV plays on silently, witness to the mayhem by womankind.

Has anyone seen my sock, one sock, one is here under the jeans which are under the sari you flung yesterday which is under the tent sized handbag which is…

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