Dissecting Impressions

No not with the limited reach of the cognitive capabilities of the human mind, I would recommend a good serving of the famed Holmes-Watson duos’ deductive might, oodles of Supermanly determination and a pinch of joblessness to taste as the main ingredients needed to make a meal out of understanding the enigma called a ‘female mind’. Some people live their lives in the quest for answers to their numerous questions, while few others engage their lives trying to find the questions to the answers nature has already presented them with. The slugabed that I am would obviously park me in the latter zone and which is why I have taken this bold step into uncharted territory.
Biology is a subject I personally enjoyed a lot in high school thanks to the lavish scope for conning tongue twisters it presented me. But then that was school and 11th grade was a totally different ball game altogether. The advent of the science of Dissection made sure that only the passionate and patient ones remained. The rapid thinning of the boys interested in the subject was hence no surprise.
Mastery of this science calls for absolute precision, meticulous observational powers, attention to minute details, patience to fend off the fiends of distraction for long hours and of course a good pair of motor limbs. Save an occasional shriek you come across when a dead frog jumps into life, our friends from the other gender have what it takes to go the dissective distance.
Not surprisingly our womenfolk have gone on to manifest their dissective skill set in areas outside the jurisdiction of Biology stretching far into the mundane trivialities of life!
To help you see the picture I’m trying to paint, allow me to darken the hues a little more.
Remorse and ignorance are invariably two major feelings a guy would encounter when he commits the sin of raising subjects like ‘first impression’ as a part of casual talk. This talk ain’t any clumsy just-for-the-sake-of-it conversation subject, not when ‘tis posed to a woman. As the list of the details of that darned first meeting are unraveled the poor guy realizes how futile his 20-odd year’s sentence with him was when compared to the 30-odd minutes this lady needed to fold him inside out. It then appears as though all the cosmic forces of nature have taken time off to join the lady in dissecting the guy and his ‘first impression’; they cleave, rip and make such surgical incisions of his character that are simply unimaginable.
Now all of a sudden those long uneasy silences, those distant glances at the restaurant ceiling and those furtive glances to check if she’s looking don’t seem all that unimportant! Torn to mono-syllable acknowledgement of his ‘first impression’, his sin dawns on him and remorse engulfs him!
An impression might mean the taste that lingers in your palate for us lesser mortals, but for the species called females, it’s more than that, it goes to even the flavors used. Its dissection on special order! Guess some of my answers and many of your questions have been put to rest thru’ this discourse!

The Four lettered sailor

[The contents of this blog could be classified as Parental Advisory, so request exercise of discretion in taking the plunge]

The guy on the street foul mouths the driver of the speeding roadster; the desperate loser attributes his distorted luck; the seductive girlfriend eggs on her reluctant boyfriend to go the distance; the reviewed silences his reviewers; the excited winner of the darned reality show expresses her astonishment on actually being crowned the bitchiest of em’ all; the average English-speaking ruffian across the road prefers to use it as a substitute to the well acclaimed punctuation of the Queen’s language. Different tones, different circumstances, different connotations, that is what the four-letter F-word, ‘FUCK’ has come to be.
It’s funny how acronyms are shaped, how they are twisted and turned to look normal! Else how could a protocol from the era of monarchy have given birth to this genius of a slang word? Something that deserves even more pondering would be that not many of the consumers of this brand of language know the roots of this commonplace figure of speech if I may say so. In the Isles of the Great Kingdom, where men had to seek consent of the Kings for their marriage, in an era where concubines and mistresses were not classified as abnormal no matter how shameful they might have been, ‘Fornication upon Consent of King’ was a custom that was not what you could categorise as illegitimate. One single meaning it had and a not so abnormal one during the times it was coined, no matter how morally low an act it was.
What has become of this protocol is definitely worth a laugh! As people say one bad remark stays put in spite of the numerous good you might have done to cover it up, it always shows its shameful head in a crowd, it’s the same with language. No matter how many beautiful words it might have gifted to mankind, it’s the bad ones that stick. I doubt if the acronym FUCK stood for ‘FOOD upon Consent of King’ or ‘FAITH upon Consent of King’ it would have given us this modern day adjective dear to many. FUCK has stood the test of time, though beaten, weathered and torn by the turbulent and changing winds of usage and lifestyles. Definitely some seeds of our ever-so-colorful vocabulary of the times would stand this same test and bloom in colors not conceivable at this stage.