Portrait of a Lady

The orifice gapes open wider, the beast has shown its true size, natural fear and disgust at the sight of the unnatural large opening sweeps over me. Slowly, thankfully, the hand moves, albeit quite late on the job, to cover the mouth and the last remnants of the yawn. It’s the 10th yawn for the hour, and images of me shoving the reciever of the conveniently placed telephone into the mouth next time it opens fills my brain. Seems sadistic in a way I know but at least it helps assuage my boiling irritation.

As usual after some yawns, the inevitable takes place. The long and mysterious trip to the washroom. What perils and adventures lies in the path of the heroin of this tale I don’t know, but given the unnaturally long duration of this activity, one can suppose that there could be few reasons for this. Everything in the spectrum starting from constipation comes to mind. But it’s hard to imagine such a relaxed and sleepy demeanour from anyone suffering from any of these ailments. No, it can be only one thing. The mid hour nap!

One can only imagine what sort of dreams a person has when the person takes a nap in that holy cubicle. I only pray that these excursions are followed by the mock flush and hand wash. Not too good for the image of the team you see. The casual observer might mistake absence of the before mentioned acts as a sign of lack of personal hygiene. It’s hard for the commoner to understand that heroes are different beings, after all you don’t see Aragon or Gimili running across the mountains carrying toilet paper and tooth brush do you.

As you see this meaningless tale has now taken a tolkienish directon and I must burst into a song.

Lady my sweet lady

Dint you get any sleep last night

What kept you up? A fright?

Maybe you should stop that diet

Lady my sweet lady

Why is it that you blush

When I ask did you flush

Just concerned about your rep

Lady my sweet lady

Beware of the fiendish foe

Who might stick a receiver,

Into that yawning hole

Lady my sweet lady

And I use that word loosely

The hours I go on counting

Of the naps you keep taking

Lady my sweet lady

Before we say our goodbyes

And here while we still linger

With love accept my lone finger

Any similarity between the persons and events mentioned in this post to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. But hey if the shoe fits......