The wench thinks too much. She should just pick up the phone and call. Unless she doesn’t have the number; or forgotten it; or it was on a postit and got destroyed in the laundry. In which case, go to whitepages.com

BPSK

ok/bpsk:

sometimes, there ain’t no number nowhere … but she might bump into him at a street corner sometime in the future. :-)

rads:

for some reason, i recall a poem from an english text long long ago – but i don’t agree with the advice, which is probably two centuries old!

- s.b.

As depressing as it is, this is by far my favorite ‘fable’. :-)

I love ur writing… whatever the meaning lol :)

Nice one Rads. :–) Good exercise for the brains ;-D

My question is, why is everybody presuming a jilted lover? What if she just had some awesome biryani on July 12th, and is just pining for the moment once again?

But ah, you say, that Ivan Turgenev quote explicitly talks about him living in the fleetest of instants in her heart. That’s where I’d have to accuse you of not thinking hard enough; _of course_ Ivan Turgenev would call it that, wouldn’t he. He spoke Russian, a language that slavishly assigns gender to everything, including juicy biryani morsels.

Also, note that “he” here lived only for the fleetest of instants; surely, unless you folk are accusing her of murdering someone, he can’t be but something temporal. Like hot, steaming biryani, after you’ve had a mouthful.

Additionally, note that his (not “his”, Ivan Turgenev’s) brain weighed 2026 grams at his death.

hmmm… have to read the Turgenev school sometime.. Haven’t read him ever..

Like the girl wishes to go, s.b and wh have already gone back in time. :)

Thanks for honoring the request, Rads :-)

[with apologies to Lady Macbeth]Out damned post! Out I say!

BPSK (lamenting the loss of a certain risque post]

TAAmom – wow, thank you! Honored, I like the way you put it. :)