Hello, friends! Over the next few weeks, I am away for my wedding and honeymoon, so I’ve invited some of my favorite writers to keep you entertained in my absence! Enjoy!!
Many many eons ago (This was back when I was a kid in the last century) I was idly sitting at my grandparents home doing what I usually do best. Eating chocolate.
Good times. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon with clear blue skies and a gentle breeze flowing. So I was rather enjoying the day sitting out front on the patio.
This is too good to be true. In comes mom to disrupt what would be the last few moments of peace that I would enjoy that day. Apparently, mom and the other ladies of the town had decided it would be “take-your-kids-to-the-beach-day!”
Unsurprisingly, I was not quite thrilled about this invitation. I said NO. I grew up in a beach city, used to holiday at my grandparent’s town which was again a beach town. So a trip to the beach does not really fascinate me. The allure of something very precious is lost when you have easy access to it.
Mom was growing concerned that I would grow up to be this fat hermit, who hates social interaction and is incapable of the mundane conversations. (I liked to think I would grow up to be a fucking lone wolf)
She threw my sand sculpting tools (which I had bought a few weeks ago…… because reasons) at me and told me that I shouldn’t have bought the tools if I was never going to use them. Well fuck. I was being guilt tripped. It worked.
I reluctantly got dressed picked up the tools and met mom at the patio. The gang was all there.
3 other women who I couldn’t care to know (even today) and 8 other kids whose names I still don’t care to know. I mean 8 other evil little boys. I don’t know if they were really evil. But somehow I judged them to be evil the moment I saw them.
Anyways, we commenced our walk towards the beach. Me clutching my tools and those 8 little assholes being as loud and obnoxious as possible. I did not understand why were they so excited about going to the beach. So most of the walk to the beach was spent me judging them and the other ladies trying to rein them in.
After few minutes of walking, we reached the beach.
The boys were onto business. They immediately removed their little flip flops and started using them as tools to somehow mold the wet sand to resemble a sand castle. Amateurs.
Not one to be subdued, I made a suggestion that we could use my tools to build this sand castle. It would turn out better and possibly even prettier.
One by one each of them turned their heads towards me. There was a look of disapproval in their eyes. This was intimidating. I felt like this is some kind of a board meeting wherein I made an objectionable opinion.
I knew I had to be strong. I looked each one of them in the eye daring them to overrule this suggestion.
At last one of boys who was the tallest and the skinniest of them all spoke. “or maybe you could remove your flips flops and help us. It would be faster this way.”
I was appalled. As a child, I was told that hygiene and quality were of utmost importance. And this rabid monkey had just suggested I do something that completely defiled those sacred rules. Naturally, It was getting clear that we were having creative differences on this project. Our philosophies did not align.
This was a matter of quality vs speed. It’s what you believe is the right thing to do. And I was being horribly outvoted 8 -1.
I did what I believed was the right thing to do and to this day I stand by my decision. I walked out.
I set out building my own perfect sand castle a few feet away from the boys. It was a solo operation and it was very, very slow. I had to first decide on the structure of my new sand castle. After being reasonably satisfied with the image that I had built up in my head I set off with building the foundation.
I looked over at the boys. Naturally, they had built a huge form of deformity that resembled what I thought looked like an ant hill. Heck, even ants build better shapes than this monstrosity. They were now trying to pile up the sand higher and higher. I assumed they were trying to make the structure bigger than it already was.
After some time sun was near setting and the world was covered in a soft orange hue. The ladies told the boys and me that it was time to wrap up and leave.
The boys meanwhile had built this monstrosity.
I had pretty much finished building my castle and was really happy with it. I thought it was perfect for a first attempt at building a sand castle.
I was proud of my accomplishment. It would stand tall like a monument for the next few hours for the visitors to look and marvel at. It was a welcome reprieve from the monstrosity that the boys had built.
My suspicions were true. The rabid monkey was really evil. He got intoxicated by the power of his followers and the castle he had built. He became the mad king. This always does not end very well. He announced to his followers “You know what would be a great idea, destroying the sand castle we built by kicking the shit out of it”.
What. The. Fuck.
He was the first one to kick. Something must have snapped in him. His followers were obviously enchanted by him. They followed suit.
One by one each one of them participated in this debauchery and I saw them tear down the mountain of sand.
The demolition was nearing completion when a little boy ran towards my sand castle.
I only saw madness in his eyes. He had gone insane by the sudden rush of adrenaline by destroying something.
It took me a few seconds to register what he was about to do. He was about to destroy my sand castle.
I wanted to put myself between him and my beautiful sand castle.
I was a hair of a second late and the damage was done.
Rage consumed me and I quickly shifted gears from wanting to be a roadblock to wanting to ram this zombie with full body force onto the floor.
I used all my might and pushed him as hard as I could. I don’t know where all that strength came from. There is something about you wanting to protect what you love. He staggered a few feet back and lost his balance and fell butt first. He wailed in agony. I screamed. I was half annoyed that he hadn’t got hurt or had a nosebleed or something. The rest of the boys looked at us as if in a trance. One of the ladies who was apparently this little asshole’s mom ran towards her son.
I charged at the boy once again.
Someone caught me mid-action. I thrashed and wailed while they furiously tried to constrain me. I was blind with rage. I did not care.
The kid’s mother was by this time comforting him who was by now sobbing uncontrollably.
I felt no remorse. I yelled “let me go! he shouldn’t have done it!”
Anger filled every bone in my body. I don’t think my body had known this emotion before to such an extreme degree. Tears welled up in my eyes. I continued to thrash and try to break free. I hated that I was restricted by the strength of my little frame. My body was weak.
I gave in after few good minutes of struggle.
The boy’s mother looked at me with disgust like I am some sort of feral creature whose place is supposed to be in the zoo. I looked back at her channeling the same disgust.
Mother looked at me, her face fuming. She told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t apologize to the kid I would be sent packing back to our home in the city and it would be the end of the vacation.
I did not apologize. I was not the one at fault here after all. I merely tried to protect my little kingdom.
As if on cue the kid wailed even louder. He knew that would make everyone even more sympathetic to him and his mom looked at my mom like “well what are you going to do about it now?”
I knew his evil game. I was not about to give in. I looked at my mom like an adult. Eye to eye. I calmly said, “I am not apologizing to this monkey.” Warning laced in every word as I spoke.
With that, I picked my tools and kept walking away like a champion with my head held high. Gracefully.
I do not remember a lot that happened next. I have a vague memory of my mother profusely apologizing to the lady on my behalf. I don’t know.
Needless to say, we are not friends with this mother-son pair anymore. If I ever came across this asshole again, I might challenge him to a duel ’til death, because this is the war that lasts for generations.
There was supposed to be a lesson in here somewhere I think, but I can’t seem to figure it out.
P.S: I may have exaggerated the story a bit. Okay, a lot. If there is some zombie youth welfare act or something please don’t sue me.
TheBlackSheepTheorem.com is a blog illustrated by zany ridiculous drawings and the posts are often the result of being
high on caffeine. This blog was also started on a whim during one of the caffeine-fueled nights. These are one of those mistakes that are often regretted after coming down from the high.
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