Addicted

     Addicted. That’s what I am. To what, you ask? I say to things that aren’t worth an addiction to. Such as, you wonder? Those simple, innocuous things that you simply cannot do without. You, of course, think I’m talking about schmaltzy things such as love, music, the birds and insects, the sky and stars et cetera. Not to worry. Nothing wrong with you. That’s just the consequence of my previous posts.

     All the same, just for the record, I’m talking about no such things. The particular things I had in mind were coffee and mint. Why suddenly coffee and mint? Because, dear friend, those are the two newest additions to my taboo list. Which, of course, is controlled entirely by my mother. She, for her part, expresses her firm disapproval about caffeine intake by “children”. That would, thank you very much, refer to me. And I, naturally, can’t give up coffee for anything in the world. That’s Part I of War of The Stimulant Ban.

     Part II. Mint. What is so terrible about mint you ask? I would say – NOTHING. It’s the nicest, most useful thing to grace the world after coffee. Predictable and pathetic. I know. Anyway, I have this weird fixation, an idiosyncrasy you might call it. There has to be and I mean there simply has to be a box of mint on my study table ALL the time. Make what you want of it. Whether I eat it, whether I don’t or just simply give it to the dog, it’s got to be there. There’s one upside that you can see to this. I don’t fuss about brands. As long as it’s strong and white, it’s good to go! That’s another thing…I hate coloured mint. Ugh!
     That was my version.

My mom – Mint is bad. It’s not good for health.
Me - *sigh* ok…so? (don’t care – love mint)
Mom - It gets you addicted to it after a while. You’ll become a junkie.
Me – rattle off stats from TIME strengthening my case.
Mom – rattles of more stats from god-knows-where and which completely dwarfs mine. Then goes - We’ll have to do rehab. It’ll become a trauma for the whole family. You’ll never be able to get out of it. <This actually happens when mom gets real desperate to get me to do something. Pity.>
Me – MOM!!! It’s a darn MINT….not some bloody morphine derivative. Sheesh!!
Mom – Don’t you dare swear in front of me!!! …blah…blah…<read dishoom, dishoom, dishoom!!>

This part of it is an entirely different story. We’ll get to that later. Swearing and my mom. Two things you never juxtapose. Anyway, the result of the War shall be announced shortly. There is no alternative. I win.