The Monroe Zone

Getting older involves waking up everyday and

- counting my greys

- wondering whether to start using anti-ageing creams to prevent my face from looking like a world map.

- forgetting what I was supposed to be doing.

The loss of memory seems to be pretty disturbing, especially since for most of my life I have boasted about having a great memory without ever having eaten almonds. I actually have a problem with swallowing them after chewing them for what feels like a lifetime.

My not-so-great memory these days means I often forget which day of the week it is.

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, Saturday?

The H&M keychain free with every bikini. Hand model: Mallika.

When I was little, I had a pack of Days of the Week underwear. It made my obsesseive compulsive life seem more complete and made my week feel more organised.

I loved Saturday. And not just because it was the weekend.

Tea Set by Esther Horchner.

It's hard to find a fun pack like that these days.
If you live in India, you have atleast once bought underwear from a man across a counter who uses the words 'Madam stretch' as a sales pitch.

Now, the only time you'll catch me telling a man give me a 35, 36, 39(c) is when I'm ordering Thai food over the phone from a numbered menu.
Anyway, those days are behind us now.

The 21st Century has brought with it a lot of good stores where we can all shop peacefully.
Without being embarassed about a salesman judging you.

I think what you wear always makes a difference to your mood.

AND...

The Seven Year itch poster.

One needs to be prepared at all times incase one pulls a Marilyn.

How exactly does one pull a Marilyn?

Well, it happens when you enter a café wearing a frou-frou skirt and forget that there's an air-cooler next to you and automatically fall into the trap that I like to call the Monroe zone.

I speak from experience.

I am the one.