As a society, we love judging people. In fact, that could probably be our national pastime. We judge people on what they wear, don’t wear, eat, don’t eat, do don’t do, buy, don’t buy. How high we turn up our noses is directly related to how good we feel about ourselves. The more we squish someone’s self-esteem, the better human beings we think we are.
As a kid, I was brought up on a staple and wholesome diet of Enid Blyton books. From Famous Five to the Five Find Outers to Secret Seven and the Malory Towers series …. I loved every story written by her. But my all time favorites were the ones where she had an interesting line up of magical characters.
Women have always fascinated me, especially the kind who believe their looks, beauty, clothes, style, makeup and accessories make the world go round; those who are of the opinion that they’re God’s gift to mankind. Let me change that – they firmly believe that they’re God’s gift to mankind. After all, opinions suggest that they can be changed, but beliefs … in India? Ha ha ha, good luck!
My first post on my (not first) blog was meant to be something entirely different. Certainly not this weird poem that (upon reading a couple times) seems to be pornographic content for a sadist. When I read it out to a few of my friends, they all shifted gingerly in their seats, sporting a look that suggested they were uncomfortably close to a live bomb.