I am known to be nimble with a bra and undies but, somehow, Shefaly forgot to press the space bar, and it so happens that I have to talk on, no, not even brandies, but brands.
I might have married a branded wife (handsome young stud that I
was am), but I did not. The one I did nearly branded me with a hot pressing iron for lateral winking, following which I signed off my right to liberty and pursuit of happiness. Whatever is left is called life, at least as per the pieces of paper written by Father figures like James Madison and Benji Franklin.
As for material objects that rule our lives, I am ambivalent about brands. Some are awesome and to-kill-for, while others are overrated, and many unbranded things are outstanding.
I will take this meme my way. Because it is my brand of blogging.
At daybreak, I get into the standard Nike/Reebok gym gear and drive my car to my gym, which is not Gold’s Gym. International gym gear is outstandingly high class. It allows one to stretch one’s limbs so far away from each other that it seems inconceivable how they manage to come back to status quo ante. My shoes create no ecco when I move, because I wear quiet, red shoes, which means they scream “I am sexy, look up!” However, it is alleged in certain quarters that only street dogs hear that particular scream. Jealousy has its own brand, doesn’t it?
ON return, I scan The Times, both Economic and Indian. Stardom Levis its own price, depending on the sign of your Zodiac, I think as I dress up, looking at the Flor sheimfully. I exit for work, leaving a trail of sarcastic exclamations: “Dior me! He is going Higher, a Huge Boss. Will you return by 212?”
At work, I see the unbranded and unwashed poor who come to me. At surgery, it is important to Image One self as a medical Stryker, though not in the Indian communist sense. I Proceed through a mesh of cases in Harmonic motion. Thank God, I am spared a pile of trouble in the hospital bathrooms.
Back home, I am the Apple of my own iSight, and get Bourdeaux watching the Sam sungs on MTV in my den. In no time, I sleep. Unlike the Citi which I don’t bank on.
You can be happy alone, but misery is contagious. I propose to inflict this meme on Bikerdude and Marc.