Tag Archives: Random

16: Middle Class Mentality

16 Jan

I found the inspiration for today’s post earlier this morning when I was pottering about the kitchen to get our morning bevvys in order. Said inspiration was found exactly when I was trying to scoop out every last drop and drizzle from a small honey bottle that had come free with a larger one. I couldn’t let it go to waste; there was easily a tbsp left inside, smeared lazily across its four glass walls. While I was in the middle of this operation, I realized to myself that I was, indeed, a typical middle class Indian who totally lives up to this stereotype. And I’m not even ashamed of it. Heck, that small bottle of honey costs 55 bucks! Btw, it’s Dabur, in case you’re interested in this buy one get (a smaller) one free.

Ps, I don’t like Dabur’s honey, but there was nothing else on the shelves, and I was too lazy to go find myself some other better honey. I miss the Coorg one we get in Bangalore. That never reminds me of the revolting experience I had when I first came face to face with honey, back as a child. Cheese, and honey, have been two acquired tastes, to be honest.

Moving on, here are some other things I’m very middle class about. :P

Asking for complimentary coriander/curry leaves and green chillies after buying vegetables, especially during winter when coriander grows with free abandon. Haha, it reminds me of that ad which is on tv these days – where that man discreetly asks for a bunch of coriander and chillies. But in my defence, if I’ve shopped for vegetables worth 200 bucks, then I deserve some free leaves which, in that amount, do not cost more than a rupee, if you ask me. Okay, maybe not more than four or max five rupees. Honest.

Scooping out every last drop of batter into the cake tin; or anything for that matter – honey, mayo, sauce, ghee. Especially ghee! My heart actually aches when I see these guys on cookery shows throw away what could easily be batter for a slice of cake (once cooked). Do you feel the same agony? I gasp every single time; silently of course.

Asking for my change back. Even if it’s two rupees, I am that Indian who will ask for it back. And if I’m frequenting a shop whose cashier is notorious and has a suspicious track record, I always take my card out. Also, I am not welcoming of toffees in exchange for change.

I compare prices at the supermarket. This habit also elongates my shopping time, which irritates A who finds it overbearing to even come shop for groceries in the first place. I strongly believe this habit goes a long way, and one A does not understand.

I tend to think a million times before getting something for myself, especially since I’ve quit my job. The do you need it vs do you want it debate is always a running commentary in my head. But when it’s time to shop, and when I’ve made up my mind to shop for myself, I do not acknowledge comments or debates, whether they come from me or from anyone else.

I am a hardcore paisa vasool (get the most out of your money) girl. Therefore I steer clear of buffets, sales, and these unlimited offers unless and until I am confident about doing justice to them. Most of the time, i.e., and unless I’m feeling indulgent. My trips to Nagarjuna, Mainland China, and Barbecue Nation happen when I’m ravenous. I think most other buffets in India suck. Especially the one at Chutney Chang.

My mind also constantly feels like it’s being cheated. Especially by the evil of errant auto drivers. My suspicion antennae are at their highest sensitivity when I’m travelling by auto. Haha! The others who also fall under this category are plumbers, electricians, and other handymen.

I am very middle class about excess baggage, especially when I’ve crossed the limit by only a couple of kilos and am without that seven kilo cabin bag that my ticket is allowed.

This post has actually made me feel like those irritated aunties who have a grouse with almost everything. Oh dear God. Lmao!

Just to end, and to be specifically clear, I am not middle class in the least, about leftover soaps that are too thin to use, but which can be combined with other thin used ones to make a ginormous lump of used soap, which apparently can be used. Cannot able to do that. Also, yuck. From a weirdo who thinks that soaps also need cleaning, especially if they fall on the floor, it’s impossible for me to even think of doing such a thing.

Yes, I do wash soaps too.



The Week So Far

16 Sep

Just like how most things are too good to be true, so was this 10-day stint with my maid who ever so randomly decided to leave and head back to her village. Packed with her 10-day fee and what I think was a fraction of reluctance (to make myself feel better), though overshadowed by her determination to be with her pregnant daughter-in-law (TMI, I know), she left. In these 10 days, she told me her story whilst halfheartedly sweeping her worries away with some of the dust her listless brooming caught. Once a farmer with land and a house to her name, she made her way to the city with no land and some money to help her son recover from an illness whose treatment apparently took all her land’s earnings away. But like most, if not all mothers, she was happier to see her son illness-free than armed with a few bigha of zameen. She’d never worked as a maid in anyone else’s house before, and so these past few days were filled with training her to clean my house. She picked up everything quickly, like most of us women do. Dulari was such a help even though she really sucked so bad at washing the dishes. Anyhoo. She has gone. And I’m back to doing the house work on my own. I won’t deny feeling gratified by my efforts – not that I’m great at housekeeping or highly motivated to keep up a sparkling job; but I also will not deny the effort it takes to keep a place the way you want it to be kept. After some very pumped up I can do this and I should do this because it is my space, I have decided to not genie clean the house every day. Just cannot able to. I cannot express how super grateful I am to have this absent from my list of obsessions.

Somewhere in the middle of all this humdrum and excitement and motivation which evaporated before I could wallow in it, I also seem to have made my back sore. I suspect it was carrying that evil, full bucket of water that did the trick. Back when I used to gym, I was one of those suckers whose favourite days were stretch days. Haha! I still love stretch time the most. It was then that I’d get an added hand to help me work on my back which really made all the difference. I have been craving a back massage ever since not just because it’s the most amazing feeling ever but because I can sense all that tension and knotting bundled together into what has become a rather sore and painful situation. It was just the other day when I was ruing over the years of strength training I’d received back in the day and how it feels like forever since I ran at consistently fast speeds and could lift 40 kilos or more on my shoulders. I’m thinking this is a sign to get my act together.

It has been three days since I began actively going for walks again. I can see the stark difference between then and now, and that’s the grief about breaking a routine. But I’m happy to have started and let’s see how this goes. Day 1 featured some amount of walking, a shoe bite, some leg exercises courtesy heightened motivation and excitement – endorphins!! Day 2 involved a much slower and shorter walk courtesy said shoe bite and the after effects of Day 1’s extra workout excitement. Day 2 also saw some impromptu beer and fries. Clearly I don’t need a designated cheat day. Day 3, which is today, had me wake up in a scramble because I couldn’t switch off my default AM alarm thanks to a software update. With a destroyed AM sleep, I decided to head out for a stroll and I promise mornings are just the best time of the day IF one wakes up to partake in its exclusivity. It takes what seems to be a strong will and perennial motivation; neither of which I really have a great reserve of.

Because I have been updating Instagram with these walk posts, Dr. Batra and his team has taken it upon them to start sending me messages and ads regarding weight loss, hair fall and wrinkled skin. Hahaha! I used to once advertise and target innocent people with ads…now karma seems to be getting back at me. Not only do these pieces of junk linger around unnecessarily even after being reported, but they seem to attack you with a newfound zeal if God forbid you even touch one of their ads by mistake. A list ranging from the world’s Pipa Bellas, Zivames – oh dear God, Zivame!, Dr. Batras and other what have yous, has invaded my space and now claims to be a part of my online activity record. The bane of these things is not lost upon me.

In other news, the music I once used to listen to, came right back to me ever since music has begun keeping me company the entire day. My picks used to almost always be minimally worded, calming and easy-flowing tracks which could help me ease into my early work mornings back in the day. Some of them I loved and still love are:

I love the pace and feel of this track, which somehow got lost and stashed away amid newer discoveries.

This one always, always, always made me feel cheerful, motivated and ready to take on the day when I’d cruise to work before 6am.

This piece of art was a joy and still is on my playlist; one that I turn to when I want to slow things down to a pace that feels both easy and promising. I love it. I hope you like them too, my dearest reader!

Hear them more for their melodies, than their words.

But because today is Friday, I’m on these two at the moment:


Have an upbeat Friday, friends!

7 Sep

I’m going to stay positive, determined and persistent…necessary weapons all of us need every time, every single day, every single hour…all of our life. It’s that default prescription facing life head on, comes with. Even when you’re loaded with a heavy head and symptoms that only promise to be telltale signs of stupid sickness making its way to me. 

Strangely enough, just writing and telling myself these things really helps. Lying limp and really not inclined to doing much else except just sleeping this bug off is a challenge thanks to this restlessness within me which is fast becoming a guilt check I don’t want or need. Guilt check for resting when there’s work to be done. But guilt checks exist and refuse to go sometimes; especially when you’re someone who cares about listening to these internal and external voices. So be it. 

As is routine with falling sick, the only thing I really want right now is this. Ice cream is good. A sundae, even better. I miss this place sorely and yet it seldom is a priority to eat at when I visit the ‘luru. Shame. Ice cream following this. 

Mamma’s ghee khichdi. Yummers. 

What do you turn to when you’re feeling blah and sick?

The Things I’ve Been Hoarding

30 Aug

I have a habit of collecting things – some which look pretty, lots which hold a memory dear to me. This isn’t a new habit as such, but one that has been growing voraciously, much to my surprise. What could I possibly be trying to hold on to so desperately?

When I was knee deep in shifting; removing everything from their respective places, packing, unpacking, setting things back up; here’s what I came across:

paper bags – some because they’re pretty, some because they’re quaint, some because they’re sturdy, some because they’re paper bags…well, what if we needed a bag and couldn’t find one?

plastic bags – because what if we’ve to carry dirty laundry to and from a particular place while on holiday, because what if we run out of bags and there’s garbage that needs throwing, because what will I use to cover important things (I’ve no idea what!) when it’s raining outside and I decide to walk in that sudden downpour?

takeaway containers – because we need more containers to store all that food I make very regularly, because what if I started making hummus in bulk and needed to transport it to people, because what if I have food overflowing and no place to keep it despite all the containers I’ve already stored for that very purpose? Do note, no food or hummus has been made for a while now.

plastic spoons and forks from FreshMenu – because what if we went on trips or picnics and didn’t want to eat with our hand or ran out of hand sanitizer which would then compel us to eat with said plastic paraphernalia instead of umm, maybe just washing our hands instead?

flight boarding passes – because each book needs its own book mark.

stones and pebbles as souvenirs from different places we’ve visited. They’re not light, that’s for sure.

sand. White sand from Maldives that I accidentally found in my pocket, which was then extracted from said pocket and placed in a tissue with a screaming orange post-it note larger than the tissue package to remind me of the contents inside.

sunscreen bottles. I think this one is my memory’s way of playing “pay attention and don’t overbuy stuff” with me.

I would place garbage bags (black, recyclable garbage bags bought for that very purpose. Defeats point two completely), packets of chana (garbanzo beans) and maida (flour) in the same bracket as the above, too.

Matchboxes. Because some are pretty and snarky and just fun to collect.

Coasters. Because they’re very high utility, speak of decent memories, pretty and a joy to collect as well.

Menu cards from various takeaway joints. It’s okay to have one. But more than that from the same place?

Coins. Because they’re the closest representatives to gold coins I will ever have.

Ketchup sachets. It’s clear they’re hoarded because neither of us is a ketchup fan. But to keep them for that imaginary picnic is…

Also, those spice sachets from Domino’s. It’s not like I’ve used them because again, what if I run out of them?

Paper and stationery. Because this needs no reason.

The same goes for books too.

I’m sure there is a longer list, it’s just that when the time to write them down comes, they make a dash for the exit pretending to not know me or something.

Now that I look at this list, it’s pretty clear that I’ve a problem at hand. Not everything here is precious or reminiscent of a dear memory. I wonder what’s next in store, really.

Do you hoard too? Please say yes.

Random Afternoon WhatsApp Conversations

20 Jul

The girls and I, we have a group…but of course. There are more than one in number…some consisting of old classmates, another consisting of a smaller bunch of said classmates who’ve been more communicative than the larger whole…some that comprise really close friends, some comprising family members, cousins, even colleagues; you name it and it’s probably there. We all are a part of at least one group somewhere in this cosmos of WhatsApp, one might as well admit; mostly voluntarily but sometimes obligatory and sometimes unknowingly even. Isn’t it?

The great thing is that geography doesn’t pack as hard a punch when you’re conversing on these groups; the special ones, the most. Nothing can of course replace being physically present with the people you want to guffaw your guts out with, but this comes close, and quite at the cost of startled looks from one’s spouse or family or even strangers who might find themselves in the presence of said mobile-derived guffaw. The great thing is that that guffaw happens anyway. Or the frenetic pecking of the keypad, packed with the same energy your words would be filled with if you were out there, employed to provide that much needed girlfriend advice that was warranted. Oh WhatsApp, you’ve made the world grow smaller, that’s for sure.

So while C (who was certain she needed that black coffee post disappointing rounds of milk coffee), R (who was also contemplating a cuppa black), N (who was away and being productive at work) and I were chatting, the topic of coffee which was doing the rounds made me think of this.

Tea Phobia

Do you have this? I was somewhat ashamed to admit that I did, in fact, have this fear nestled quite unapologetically in me. I felt snobbish, which I will admit I am when it comes to many things. C confirmed that she automatically expects bad tea or coffee, which makes the appearance of that occasional decent bevvy a pleasant surprise, to which R concurred. It’s one of those things that doesn’t stop a million what ifs in my head when I have tea from places other than where I like drinking my tea or coffee from. The reality of insipid, watery, tasteless, stale, reheated, or worst still, cups of tea or coffee with floating islands of malai in them, is one that looms large on this already fretful mind, oftentimes leading to my not having said tea or coffee no matter how badly I might want one.

While I was looking for this picture to share on the group, I also came across these very random but cute ones.

Toast Phobia

Flamingo Phobia

I’m certain that these aren’t as real or anywhere close to being real like tepidophobia is. I’m not even certain if tepidophobia is paramount enough to be classified as a disorder in the ICD or DSM yet. But looking at how taking selfies has landed up as a classified, official disorder, I won’t be surprised if this makes it there too someday.

However, in the mean time, here’s what caused a slight guffaw on many a group today. Simple cartoons brimming with expressions and randomness are sometimes just what we need to see humpday through, no? I guess it’s all about keeping it simple and real, or random sometimes.

PS, I really loved the flamingo one. Whodathunkofthat?! Also, to be culture fair, perhaps a crow would be a better option.

On A Day Like Today…

16 Jun

…when I don’t have anything to particularly crib, complain, act aunty-ish or adult about, I find myself turning to the playlist I’ve come back with after visiting my younger cousins. It’s nasty, sick, woah and catchy; all in one. Here’s what I’m currently trippin’ on and I’m sort of shocked, sheepish and extremely conscious of a) grooving to this kind of music, and b) sharing it. After a couple of trials, I finally found a version that was okay to share despite how outrageous the lyrics even are. It’s a scary world out there, I tell ya. And the things youngsters listen to/are exposed to today is even more scary. There, I just had to aunty it up somehow. Here it is; this blasphemous yet catchy tune that’s caught me in a trance like spin.


Moving on to more interesting things, the craving for a really strong and earthy cup of filter coffee made itself present yesterday. So I decided to fix myself a stiff one and have it for lunch given my caffeine sensitivity – my night sleep gets disrupted if I have a cup of tea (forget coffee) after 3pm, especially on a weekday when I really need to keep my sleep routine intact. However, because Murphy exists, the same case does not apply when I consciously have a cup of tea post 3pm on a weekend just so that I don’t become an aunty and head to bed by 930pm. This world has a strange way of functioning; it’s laughable.

That said cup mug of coffee happened and it had me from the first sip. It is hearty, warm, comforting and enveloping to be cradled and swathed in the feeling of having a really, really, good cup of tea or coffee. Nothing else matters in that moment, really. Do you also feel that way? Thy cup brimmeth with all things good and maybe that’s why I’m in absolutely no mood to care about the rest of the world even a day after that caffeine intake happened. In fact, today’s morning tea sort of felt insipid which is not how I wanted my day to start – but like Monica once said, I’ve lost the will to scold…except in my case, I’ve lost the will to care. My mug brimmeth over.

The weather is slowly turning but the heat isn’t. I’ve no idea when it will, and again, I’ve given up. The trees and plants around me do look fresher and greener but when it comes to living in NCR, it all feels like an illusion because the next day goes back to looking like no storm even took place. I might as well imagine that we live in a desert what with dust storms taking over. And that’s exactly what happens here. Our hour long flight dragged on for over four hours thanks to a dust storm that seized operations all over IGI. And while we were descending to land, once the strong winds and storm had subsided, it still felt we were going through a roller-coaster ride. I kept peeping out of my window whenever I could open my eyes, only to find sheets of rain illuminated every time the aircraft’s lights flickered – it looked so scary and monstrous that it reminded me of those fake scary sets old movies used to have. It was scary, in a very dramatic way. Bangalore seems so calm and collected, in comparison. So proper.

But it’s a good day to just let go and not think, worry, overthink, fret or even comprehend too much. And I’m going to do exactly that. Have a fabulous Thursday, folks!

Me-Time Possessiveness

8 Apr

I am possessive about certain quite a few things – the names I give people and expect nobody else to use while addressing said people, my very limited makeup accessories (namely my kajal, lip balm and lipstick), my books, my quilt, my camera, my space, and of course, my me time. The list can be quite endless…it is a feat to have narrowed it down to these few for now though.

It really doesn’t matter what I do during this time and how long for. More often than not, and much before I realise it, my time goes in thinking and doing nothing. It’s a disease, I tell you.

However, when all is not lost to my wandering mind and its flying pages, here’s what I usually end up doing this during my my-time time.







Imagine the horridness of it all when you take time out, make the necessary arrangements, finish all that needs finishing so you can spend this time all by yourself minus any guilt and savour it greedily when it gets interrupted by unforeseen and/or unwanted elements?

It happened today when I, after finishing all that needed finishing, sat down with my perfect cup of filter coffee and my perfectly toasted toasts lathered with butter melted perfectly on them, only to have my doorbell ring just as soon as I was about to read my newspaper, bite into those toasts and sip on my coffee.

I guess some days exist only to teach you a lesson or two.

Lesson: you’ve been having too many my-time days, so stop feeling bad about one interrupted instance and savour that coffee before it gets rancid.

Do You Do This?

14 Jan

As random as this is, and as coincidental as this is, I do indulge in this madness on a very regular basis; as you’re about to see.


Having this craze for things to be in a particular order and for symmetry and every other excuse I can find, it’s such a pleasure to chance upon this phenomenon, as I’d like to call it.

If that wasn’t enough, imagine my joy on finding these sequences.




While my sanity, and now my sleep, is a matter of question/debate, I must say that this craze turned habit is hard to give up.



And if you do dabble with this sort of craziness or thrill, do you do this as well?


You do, don’t you?

I knew we were on the same page.

But this craziness aside, it’s not just the love for symmetry and numbers in sequences that’s exciting. It’s the absolute coincidence of chancing upon this sort of stuff that makes it even more delightful and thrilling; for no reason whatsoever.

Ah well, small joys need no reasons or explanations, yes?

Random Musings

15 Apr

I don’t know why I write and why I don’t. I’ve tried introspecting but I don’t think I’m ready to clutter my mind with anything more.

I’m not made up of love poems or song lyrics that profess love. My previous post was the result of some God-awesome music that came my way and facilitated that much needed writing to take place. Who would’ve thought something like that would emerge? Of course I do dream of being half as awesome but there’s a fat chance lying around waiting for me to grab it. Not.

On the topic of love and everything related to it, I feel like I’ve lost touch, and so bad. I think I belong to that section of my generation that refuses to give its heart out, even for a test drive. So weird. And we think we’re fearless. I think we’re masters at sailing the Ship of Fear. Ironic. That’s what defines this generation, if you ask me. I see it in my self, I see it in the people all around me. This pseudo fearlessness is such a turn off. I wonder when we’ll just get real and get ready to scrape that heart a tad bit and just play.

Times have been interesting. I feel alive. I feel like I’m where I should’ve been sometime back. But I think things take time and happen when they have to. It’s true. That darn phrase is true – when it’s time, it will happen (with the added condition of “if it’s meant to”). I’ve become a believer of timing. But being who I am doesn’t allow me to give those reins away that easily. I still believe we’re part masters of our fate. And that isn’t going to change. No, I don’t have authority issues. Yes, I do have control issues. But this boils down to how much you credit yourself and value your self to be. And that answer can never be zero in my book. That’s a never I’m dead sure of saying.

While on that same continuum, I’ve also begun despising this entire concept of hope. It turns me off. There’s a falsity in it that almost makes me angry. Because I’m a believer of having that harsh truth out there and doing something about it than living in the bubble of hope that may or may not work. I’m not okay with hope. It’s pretend play. It’s fake. It’s making someone ride on a bike that’s made up of air, magically expecting it to turn into the bike of your dreams. While that might float one’s boat in dire times, it’s something I find very hard to digest. Maybe it’s because of the expectations that being hopeful allows you to have. Really, I am a cynic, but I’m being real here. There’s no point hiding behind a veil and praying. There’s a point in working and working hard. There’s a point in believing in yourself. And there’s a point in knowing that not everything will turn out the way we envisioned them to be.

This reminds me… time has constantly reinforced the need for me to believe in my own self. You’re only ever answerable to your individual self. I don’t know what happens at the end, and whether Judgment happens or not, but it matters to just believe. Because who else do you turn to when you’ve got no answers? What else to you record in pages of your book except what you’ve done to arrive at where you are today? I do not discount the efforts of others that have contributed to our arriving wherever we need to…but just how we easily thank a billion factors and people for making us get to where we are, why is it so hard to understand that we’re where we are also because of who we are and what we’ve done? How is that selfish? How is that being self-centered? How is that not okay? Yes, while the universe conspires in its own way and makes magic happen, I’m beginning to realize that we’re right there, in that moment too. We’re probably the ones holding the wand or saying the right words or being the right person. We’ve got to have done something right. We have. And I’m thankful we have.

I’ve been meaning to write but it hasn’t been happening. And I don’t know why. Moments (my previous post), was written as a result of some God-awesome music someone I know played. I guess I needed that release. Look what it turned out to be. I guess I was shocked looking at it too. Love and me…we don’t really see eye to eye a lot. But I’m so thankful for music. When everything else fails, music really does shine through. Music really is the magic language of the universe.

Here’s me wrapping up this rather random but heartfelt post. I guess this I’ll write more when I’m up to it. In the mean time, I’m continuing to drift the stream of consciousness way. Thank you for listening. :)


21 Feb

So the nationwide bandh has us working from home. It’s awesome because a non work from home option would have meant us spending a good 12 hours at work to tide the bandh hours. We’ve done it once before but then God magically handed us laptops which helps make the world a better place. So yeah, working from home has its luxuries; the first and most important being that I can wake up exactly 2 minutes before my log-in time as opposed to 1.5 hours before it. Then I have the option of keeping the laptop on my bed and snoozing off some more till someone pings me. I also have the luxury to work in my night clothes, waddle to the kitchen and make us some chai and sit on the dining table with the pretty view of trees and flowers in front of me as I work, or type this post out as it were.


So I’m at work in my shorts and chappals in a non-air conditioned environment that is abundant with sounds of a pressure cooker whistle, aromas from the kitchen, vendors and hawkers yodeling the words “soppu” (greens) and “paper” (from the paper hawkers), irritating noises of all sorts from a nearby construction site, a dog’s barks, Fuzzy’s impatient wheeking, echoes from basement conversations and of course the rustle of leaves of the passing breeze. So it’s good. It’s comfortable. It’s peaceful in its own way. I don’t even find the need to plug my headphones on or be wired to music at all times.

However, I’ve realized over the past (now) 2 days that I miss office. It’s not like I’m a social butterfly who teeters to everyone’s desk and chit-chats, but I do wish to be around work people when I’m working. It’s not like I’m complaining about the current situation because I’d much rather be at home than at work for 12 hours at the mercy of a bandh. All I’m trying to say is that I’m not much of a work from home kinda girl. I like going out there and meeting people and friends. I like the routine I have at work (it’s more structured and healthy also!). I like laughing randomly over silly conversations and comments we keep passing. So as much as this is a super luxury I’m very thankful for, I like working in a work environment very, very much. And that thought makes me very happy. I guess there’s a time and place for everything primarily because I ensure I have some time for everything; be it work-related or otherwise. So that’s that on the work from home front. Also, I realize work from home is hyphenated, but just like how I was too darn lazy to get the camera and show you a better picture of the view, so’s the case with the lack of adequate punctuation too. Blame it on WFH. :P

The second update, I reckon, is somewhere connected to WFH because I feel like getting back to Facebook. It’s not a craving and neither is it a weird voyeuristic need. It’s just something I feel at this very moment. Maybe I’m ready to go back on again and spam the world with my junk. Maybe, just maybe, I will.

Also, since this is a post about updates, Piggy’s getting married tomorrow…in less than 21 hours to be precise. She is nervous. She is happy-nervous. And I am antsy in a totally good way. I’m apprehensive, excited, nervous and oh-so senti or emo as they call it today!


Since it’s less than a day away and since it is a wedding, much grooming must be done. And here’s what I did, to begin with. Red. The only red I’ll ever wear because I have a thing against red. It’s a long story. But yes, I’m mighty pleased. Also, I’m feeling pretty foxy! :D