The Weekend

Saturday Morning:

Waking up late. Lounging around in pyjamas. Maggi. Omelette. Tea. Old Sandwiches. Random fruit. An amused maid. Weekly laundry. Sheets drying over the exercise rod. Waiting for someone else to have a bath first.

Saturday Evening:

Bhel puri. Kala Khatta gola. Lebanese food. Coffee. Free chocolate pastries. The promise of free soup. Window shopping in some really quaint shops that smelled wonderfully woodsy and warm. Mall hopping. Stationery shopping. Video-gaming. Playing the keyboard and singing in the middle of the shop. Standing in queue at the food court for half an hour. Driving home with the cool air on your face.

Saturday Night:

Lots of noise. Even more attempts at cheating. Girls.Vs. Boys. Some major ass-whooping. A clear winner. Boys sulking at the result. Saturday night with Pictionary.

Sunday Morning:

Waking up even later than Saturday morning. Ordering in brunch. Facebooking on computers and phones. Finally getting out of the house post-afternoon.

Sunday Evening:

One mall. The Colour Factory. One cup. One elephant. One mask. Loads of creativity. Lots of paint. Even more fun.

Sunday Night:

Television. Facebook. Downloads. Blogs. Iphone games. PSP games. Everyone is doing their thing. Yet doing everything too.

It’s been a good weekend people. What did you do?

Of French Fries

Went to Nirula’s here in the gaon today, and was most amused by my reaction, and that of a couple of ladies at the next table. Why? Because we’d so obviously been conditioned by a certain junk food chain known as McDonalds.

What happened?

Well, when I flipped through the menu card, I saw the combos page. There were combinations of burgers and cokes to be found, and the only thing I was wondering was where the fries are? I mean, didn’t a combo mean a burger, a drink and fries?

A minute later, two ladies arrived at the next table with their toddlers in tow. They immediately decided on fries for the little ones and went on to tell the waiter the same. But as they were ordering, they asked the chap (who got more and more confused with each word) what sizes they have the fries in. Huh he looked. You know, small, medium, large fries? After about five minutes it dawned on the ladies that there was just one size.

And then I realised how conditioned we’d all become. Fries are now synonymous with McDonalds. Everywhere else we go, we assume it will be like Ronald’s place, and are mildly confused when it isn’t. Of course, there are also places where you order fries, expecting a quantity much like McD’s, and there arrives a large basketful! This is where you’re happy with variety and the unfamiliar right? I know I am.