Monday 11 July 2011
Saturday 2 July 2011
Torn Shorts
Once upon a time, I used to take tutions to learn a computer language.
It was the C language.
Wait, I think it was it C++.
No it was C.
I guess the lesson here is that we rarely remember what we are supposed to learn and some of the most random memories are what we take back at the end of the class.
My teacher, Mrs. Roy, was one of my favorites.
In her two hour class I learned more about life's code than the code that designed computer software.
One such evening she told us the sweetest story about her friend and her 13 year old daughter.
This daughter had fallen in love and had the courage to tell her mum that.
Most moms flip out.
Most would say that it's not allowed.
Few would even hire a private detective.
But thankfully this is the story her mom told her.
When we go shopping, we seem to like everything.
Sometimes we buy that pink scarf or the small purse we think is essential to complete our wardrobe.
We have to have it.
Life would seem meaningless without it. And so would our dreams.
We buy it and take it home.
And a few days later we don't like it that much.
We wonder why we had bought it in the first place.
In a matter of two days we fall out of love with it.
However, tucked away in our drawers are those pieces of clothing we just can't part with.
Those torn shorts.
That souvenir extra large T-shirt.
That 10 year old skirt that still seems to fit.
No matter what people say we love to wear them.
We sleep in them.
We go out in them.
We can't leave them.
It's the same thing with boys.
Some are so attractive that we have to have them only to realise that they never really suited us.
And then there are those torn shorts.
Those that don't look perfect at all.
We love them despite of anyone telling us otherwise.
Those are the ones we have to find.
There is nothing to worry about, baby.
This guy can be a gaudy pink scarf or could be well on his way of becoming those torn shorts.
Either way, it's ok.
Just hang on to the shorts when you find them.
I love this story. It's simple and sweet.
Not preachy. Not dictatorial.
Just plain advice from a friend more than a parent.
The Fickle Tickle piece of advice on this advice:
"The day you realise that those shorts are so torn that they can't cover your arse;
it's time to let go."
;)
It was the C language.
Wait, I think it was it C++.
No it was C.
I guess the lesson here is that we rarely remember what we are supposed to learn and some of the most random memories are what we take back at the end of the class.
My teacher, Mrs. Roy, was one of my favorites.
In her two hour class I learned more about life's code than the code that designed computer software.
One such evening she told us the sweetest story about her friend and her 13 year old daughter.
This daughter had fallen in love and had the courage to tell her mum that.
Most moms flip out.
Most would say that it's not allowed.
Few would even hire a private detective.
But thankfully this is the story her mom told her.
When we go shopping, we seem to like everything.
Sometimes we buy that pink scarf or the small purse we think is essential to complete our wardrobe.
We have to have it.
Life would seem meaningless without it. And so would our dreams.
We buy it and take it home.
And a few days later we don't like it that much.
We wonder why we had bought it in the first place.
In a matter of two days we fall out of love with it.
However, tucked away in our drawers are those pieces of clothing we just can't part with.
Those torn shorts.
That souvenir extra large T-shirt.
That 10 year old skirt that still seems to fit.
No matter what people say we love to wear them.
We sleep in them.
We go out in them.
We can't leave them.
It's the same thing with boys.
Some are so attractive that we have to have them only to realise that they never really suited us.
And then there are those torn shorts.
Those that don't look perfect at all.
We love them despite of anyone telling us otherwise.
Those are the ones we have to find.
There is nothing to worry about, baby.
This guy can be a gaudy pink scarf or could be well on his way of becoming those torn shorts.
Either way, it's ok.
Just hang on to the shorts when you find them.
I love this story. It's simple and sweet.
Not preachy. Not dictatorial.
Just plain advice from a friend more than a parent.
The Fickle Tickle piece of advice on this advice:
"The day you realise that those shorts are so torn that they can't cover your arse;
it's time to let go."
;)
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