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Mrs. Sippy Mon Amour

July 18, 2007

The lack of direction in her brisk movements caused a flurry and had infiltrated the calm of the Saturday morning. She seemed to be looking for something inside her house. Another few minutes of futile search passed, and she could not control herself any longer. “Raemmoo”, shrieked Miss Sippy , “Where have you kept those blasted yellow pages” ? Raemmoo at once stopped dusting the furniture and being the efficient worker that he was, took no longer than a minute to fish out the crumbly book. Miss Sippy heaved a sigh of relief and began rummaging through its pages. The object of her search was Paparazzi for hire. An explanation is probably in order at this juncture. What had happened was that the last time that she had attended such a glamourous, high society gathering (which was not a very long time ago), the Paparazzi media present at the party had for some inconceivable reason excluded her from their photographs. This turned out to be a traumatic experience when she failed to see her photographs in the fashion columns of various newspapers the following day. After she had recovered from the blow, Miss Sippy swore to herself that the next time, she would be the one who would conduct the hiring of the photographers so that such tragic incidents would not intersect her path again. She called them up and an intense period of haggling over the rates of hire ensued before an amicable settlement was reached. She replaced the receiver feeling contented. But it is common knowledge that contentment has a penchant for not lasting long. Miss Sippy suddenly realized that she hadn’t a single outfit suitable for the party that night (If Raemmoo’s verdict is to be believed, she has three overflowing closets containing every kind of party wear. Nevertheless for the time being, we set aside Raemmoo’s statement as rumour).

After lunch she told Raemmoo to shine her leather shoes like new as she intended to wear them later that night. After that she set out on her quest for a suitable outfit. She told her chauffeur to drive straight down to a boutique called The Emperor’s New Clothes. This shop catered to the upper strata of society (not that they said so but the prices made it evident). Miss Sippy sifted through the rows of clothes for over half an hour, yet nothing really caught her eye. A little dejected, she left for another of her favourite boutiques which was just around the corner. Adiposia Fittings as it was called specialized in exciting leather wear. Miss Sippy fondly reminisced her last purchase from this shop — a beautiful leather shirt with a woolly mammoth printed on it, and trousers to match which boasted of protruding antelope horns on either side of the waist. What a hit that outfit had been. So transfixed to her recollections was she that she did not realize how awkward her facial expression looked to one bystander.
In fifteen minutes she had set her heart on a brown leather shirt dotted with heart-shaped mirrors. Another added advantage was that the pair of trousers that came with it had a built in glass holder. This meant that she could now gesticulate wildly with her hands, as well as have a swig of alcohol every now and then. Miss Sippy was for that moment in awe of Science.

With all her shopping requirements met with, Miss Sippy desired a nice cup of coffee. She headed straight for Brewtus, an Italian chain of coffee houses which had sprung up all over the city. When she entered the place, the people in her immediate vicinity started to look a little confused, owing to the fact that the aroma from their respective coffee cups had apparently ceased to emanate. One coffee drinker sitting nearby pondered, “If she were a bit nearer to me, one whiff of her fragrance might have been more fatal than seductive”.
She went up to the counter, awkwardly bumping into a man in from of her. His modesty violated, the man’s jaw literally dropped like one of those old-fashioned cash registers opening with a ‘cling’. “And not too much cream on my coffee Sweety, I am on a diet”, added Miss Sippy after she had ordered it.

It was around nine in the evening. Miss Sippy opened her bathroom cabinet and took out a half used tube of DecaDent toothpaste and vigorously brushed her teeth with it. After that she took a shower and put on her newly acquired dress. She then set out for the party. (The time frames of these events have been accelerated to avoid monotony and also to discourage the reader from accusing the writer of banality.)

The venue for the occasion was Mr and Mrs Rao’s grand house. When she reached there the house was already swarming with familiar faces. The décor of the house was most tasteful, with golden chandeliers and large solid brass statuettes adorning the corners. Not to forget those snarling leopards, stuffed to the core, which gave the house its unique ambience. Mrs Rao greeted Miss Sippy warmly and admired her outfit, talking about it at length. The house was buzzing with activity with disco music and heavy traffic around the bar. She decided to get herself a gin. On her way to the bar she bumped into a minister friend of hers. The minister was busy in conversation with some important people. Miss Sippy kissed the air around the minister’s cheeks and this gesture was reciprocated with equal fervour. After exchanging a few pleasantries with him and his friends, Miss Sippy continued on her journey to the bar. She was happy that she had made acquaintance with some of the city’s most powerful people and was glad that she had practiced her smile in front of the mirror for over half an hour. Foresight, she often told her close friends, had always been one of her strong points. She also spotted the photographers who she had dealt with earlier that day. She smiled and winked at them and they winked back. Miss Sippy was now quite confident of being a hit tomorrow.
A few gins down and Miss Sippy decided to sit down in a relatively quiet spot and enjoy the party from a distance . This was a good idea since she was not entirely in control of herself. Earlier in the party she had noticed that many people had been carrying the new Gyrato cellular phones, quite a rage these days. The phones are to be strapped on to the posterior of the waist. So every time the phone rings it makes the fleshy parts quiver, sending the owner as well as their viewers into raptures.
While Miss Sippy dreams about owning the Gyrato phone, we travel to another corner where a man is talking about Picasso and we foresee a bout of infectious laughter. “Cubism is great”, to which another man quips, “Which reminds me, where are the ice cubes for my Whisky”?

End.

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