Princesses. Petite, pretty miserable creatures of nature. I wish they were as forgettable and pardonable too. The audacity with which they swirl their imaginary wings, ungrounded and unwary, is tedious. Tedious, if you are in a close proximity, else really, why else would you care for such airs? The proximity is so dangerous, the cacophony of their sweet and giving demeanor so disturbing, that it could beat the lure of extracting honey and being attacked by bees.
Their immaturity, and its consistency, to say the least is commendable. It is amusing to observe a spoilt and rotten child rotting further in an ageing body, frilled with pink laces, and exorbitant brands. Brands for which they don't pay with the money, they don't earn. Papa pays. Why should I complain?
Because I have a trigger alert for under-mediocrity, and my response may not exactly be kind. Yet, I am mature, and stay silent for the sake of my own sanity. Everything is being recorded for posterity, when I survive and write my masterpiece. One of my characters will also make a clinical postmortem of the certain species called 'bosses'.
Till then, I look into alphabets and fireflies to find me a pin which could burst the bubbles within which princesses reside.
Their immaturity, and its consistency, to say the least is commendable. It is amusing to observe a spoilt and rotten child rotting further in an ageing body, frilled with pink laces, and exorbitant brands. Brands for which they don't pay with the money, they don't earn. Papa pays. Why should I complain?
Because I have a trigger alert for under-mediocrity, and my response may not exactly be kind. Yet, I am mature, and stay silent for the sake of my own sanity. Everything is being recorded for posterity, when I survive and write my masterpiece. One of my characters will also make a clinical postmortem of the certain species called 'bosses'.
Till then, I look into alphabets and fireflies to find me a pin which could burst the bubbles within which princesses reside.
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