Mocking the Burning Giraffe

Last time I belled the cat three months back. Perhaps since then I completely lost my vision. Really can’t see anymore. My mug is still pouring and I really tried way too hard.Hence my neighbour again objected thrice on the eve of Easter Sunday for crying so loud. He weighed nearly 322 pounds [recently on diet], and has now moved to the Far East for living. I heard that he bought a brand new house, which has been twice painted in white – as far I guess. He never loved my beautiful young ox or old chubby wife. Unfortunately his fiancée was a police. The lady cop tolerated me weeing in the shrine for so long but just exploded when I had started praying at last. She had never been a doubting Thomas. I could barely hide my swarthy butt from then on. The sceptical high priest strongly believed that I am a Jim crow [or a gay] so must be cremated before my death. The mob were already convinced about it long ago. They were actually cynical about my gender and odd orange bloomers [truly I didn’t wear any] as it was really smelling a like rat. Finally the truce was made. They all promised to send me to the loony bin if I try to cough even once more. No surprise that Rudolph [our pet reindeer] now has a blue nose, who modestly told me: I am sure Saint Nicholas never existed – No one saw him ever. Poor fellow! I trusted him. Then we crashed the coloured eggs. He wished a toast for good health. I honestly loved the deep-dish pie although I badly needed a glass of water. And most interestingly the cobbler – next door, asked me to change my laptop right now or if I could flog my iphone instead. But he didn’t notice my shoes. Those were antique indeed. I swear a genuine Salvatore Ferragamo. None of them could spell!

Sutirtha Roy