I was day-dreaming in office today, and I was thinking...
It would have been nice if my husband could sing. Then, instead of watching those numerous news channels one after the other, in one language after the other, probably, he could have sung to me..and I would have listened, enraptured....
I would have listened dreamily as he sang love songs for me, I would have listened charmedly as he sang beautiful lullabies for our young son. I would have listened romantically when he sang those old, lovely lyrics- Hindi/Malayalam/Tamil.... and it would probably have inspired me to sing/learn as well.
Instead of which, now when he blares out some song at the top of his voice, I grimace and try to pretend its not my dear hubby, but just some loudspeaker gone bad outside.
It would also have been nice if probably my dear love-(irritation)-of-my-life could draw as beautifully as a certain other dame's husband. Then I too could sleep off while he watched cricket(?) and he could draw the sleeping beauty and I could post that instead of this.
Instead of which I probably need to thank my stars that at least he can draw a flying crow well. Those concave lines looped together, you know..
But never mind. At least, I CAN get him to laugh helplessly with me, as he listens to me re-read Something Fresh, that wonderful, wonderful laugh-a-thon from dear Wodehouse-
where Lord Emsworth is at his potty, vacuous best, and the most unlikely amateurs try to purloin back a pricelss scarab, and the Efficient Baxter tries to foil them, with the most disastrous and hilarious results.
Hmmmm.... not too bad. Laughing. Pretty infectious too. For all that its called the Best Medicine.
And maybe one day when we are not too old, I can laugh him into buying us a dog. Just imagine- a he, a she, a progeny and a dog, all tangled on the sofa. Fourplay heaven!
1 hour ago