Thursday, September 22, 2011

The Last Laugh Need Not be a Literal Laugh

I like those Chinese movies where the star fights kung fu for a "righteous" cause. Fueled by nothing but holy zeal and a sense of having been wronged, an angry Oriental chap kills the lights out of armies of crooked men using not much more than his bare albeit awesome hands and feet. Does he absolutely thrash them or what! And then in the end he finishes their suspiciously mustachioed wicked boss. Without much fuss, the hero walks back to his humble obscure village to meditate as usual. Credits roll. Awesome.

Ahem.

Rumors that GalPal had been to rehab prematurely changed my opinion of her. I even changed the name of her phone entry from Delilah to GalPal. But this was a hasty action. I should have waited to meet her and chat first.

The eventual meeting was a big coincidental flop which occurred as I was en route to a solo lunch. To start with, GalPal was in the company of QezH, and clinging steadfastly to his arm. Now I am the last person to judge a book by the cover of the next book, but QezH was in a formal suit. In those days I hated formal suits, preferring instead the trusty old t-shirt and jeans couture.

And now GalPal starts fronting like she don't know me, never met me, can't be bothered to start now. Her dreamy gaze permanently fixates upon some theoretical point in mid air, effectively making her an absentee at the scene, and thus allowing QezH and I to battle it out talk small. My whole life, I never had anything against QezH personally, even though I occasionally felt it would be a righteous deed if someone would beat him soundly. You know, duty, like jihad. But I can't afford to be the guy who beats all of Angela's exes.

QezH, looking stiff and formal, even upto the haircut, puts on a highly annoying ingratiating smile and begins to patronize me. He has a condescending attitude about him. His guts are big today; asks me what happened to Angela, are we still together? He must know full-well that Angela and I were never like that, but he's never been one to pass up a chance at a low blow.


Artist's impression of the happy reunion

My eyes snap to GalPal as I wonder where this line of questioning has originated from. But she is too busily engrossed in her daydreams by this time that she can't be expected to have heard a word. I could ask her how it feels to take over her best friend's boyfriend. I should. But no.

"We're still friends," I tell QezH, vaguely. "I'll say hi." I walk away.

As we part, the atmosphere rings with QezH's laughter. It galls and scrapes jarringly against my nerves. The way he laughs, someone needs to beat him up soon or he'll hurt himself. But I restrain myself.

What was up with QezH and I, you wonder? It's a guy thing. No one's going to spell it out this clearly again: if QezH and I had been boxing, he'd landed me a knockout uppercut and earned the grand prize of a GalPal.

Sore losers are bad enough, but a sore winner only multiplies world misery. If only people were more like those Chinese fighter-monks who win and shut up.

1 comment:

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