Al Ngullie
You see, to be perilously honest, the hardest thing about being a journalist is that your wardrobe never lasts: you have to constantly update it for reasons of journalistic mobility which wears out even the sturdiest of denims or sneakers. In my case however, this time it’s not denims but cotton. Or to be precise...Er…Jockeys. Underwear. Inside clothes. Batman things.
Fortunately, only Superman and his likes are destined to wear their underpants outside. Well, one of my underpants, a dangerously grey-black Jockey, had begun to look like some hyperactive grass cutter ran over it. No, no don’t misunderstand me – I have got 5 jockeys, three Roddicks and another three Frenchies. It’s just that too frequent a-changing had worn out this particular Jockey’s edges and the entire thing had begun reminding me of the aftermath of the Atomic bombing in Hiroshima. And, let’s not discuss much about the elastic band – the only semblance of it being a garment of any sort was the freedom-loving cotton threads that had unloosened (first time I’m witnessing an under elastic band that loves keeping long hair). So I decided to get another Jockey before it starts looking like someone just experimented on it with a particularly lethal new Hydrogen bomb.
On that fateful day, I did my share of reporting, filed the report and took off to hunt a pair of Jockeys. Then tragedy struck – one of my friends called to say she was off downtown too so we had to move together. You don’t think I’d say no and have my teeth battered out like hailstones by her, don’t you? Of all the human species in this blooming world why had it to be a woman for company when I had to go get a jockey super fast before the Atomic Bomb experiments commences? You really think I’d hang about for underwear when a female of the species is around?! No way! I was right no way. No way that I can turn around the situation to escape. The embarrassment of it all would kill me right then and there. Eeeaaarrrggghhh!
So drawing the mightiest, saddest long-face I’d ever drawn in my 2 decades of life on earth, I agreed and there my friend and I zoomed off. But of course she had no inkling of the torment going on the inside of me. Questioned zoomed in and out – how do I buy it in front of her? How do I pull, pinch or test-wear my new jockeys when she’s around? Will the new pair smell? Do they have Jockeys which looks like normal trousers so my friend won’t know they are underpants? So much struggle in this world.
So wretched the situation was and finding a way out seemed virtually impossible. Then of all ideas in the world this one lights up my head – go ahead anyway, buddy. My friend had started asking questions from where are we goings to what you gonna dos. Time was running out and I still hadn’t mustered up half Kgs of courage to buy a pair in front of her. First we went to a buddy’s store and there I pretended to scour for a T-shirt. There was no way I‘d ask when she was around, no! There were times I wished fervently that she would wander off out of eyeshot so that I’d sneak-buy a Jockey but she was ever by my side like a loving wife that forgot her duties at home. Haplessly, I mumbled to the store owner that I’d look for the Tee elsewhere. Wretchedly, with my lady friend alongside I decided a more crowded store would be better; that way with commotion and noise I can sneak-buy underwear. Up Hong Kong Market’s second floor we scurried. The same look-I-m-searching-for-a-TeeShirt exercise repeated. And no crowd: only the two of us.
So off we went again, this time to my favorite store, Jack n’ Jill. My friend kept asking me what actually it was that I wanted to buy. “Shirfts…er...Shirts” I kept mumbling to her. She was starting to stare at me suspiciously and I was just about nearing a total cardiac failure. “You are real choosy aren’t’ you?” she eyed me suspiciously. I nodded frantically. But the stores we visited had Lakhs of shirts!” She insisted. “I’m real choosy” I persisted. So off jack n’ Jill we visited.
I prayed fervently that she’d wander off in the big store, giving me ample time to sneak-buy a Jockey unseen by her. Up the Men’s section we flew. There I headed straight for the Denim Pants section and pretended to look. My companion was still around so I headed for the shoe section and pretended to go over the Adidas.’ She still hung about and no chance for me to land my cherished desire to have a new Jockey.
At wits end and feeling like a desert Donkey with an acute case of summer Malaria, I finally gave up and asked my friend if she’d want to have a coffee somewhere quite. “Have you found the Tee-shirt you have been looking for?” she asked probably wondering why the sudden change of weather. “No, there aren’t that much good ones in stock at the moment” I blabbered, sweating like a Hippo. Anyway she gave me a really sweet look, slid her small hands under my elbow and winked at me mischievously. “Ok, dude I’m yours lets go have that coffee of yours”. So off we went.
As we sat sipping the Espresso and feeling a tad relaxed that the ordeal was over, at least temporarily, my companion gave me a sweet smile, tapped my cup with a sugar-spoon and said nonchalantly “You forgot to buy your underwear”. My eyes popped out their sockets. I stared at her with my jaws hovering over the carpet. “You don’t remember? You asked for a Jockey at the first store we visited. And yes, I thought you looked terrible when you did that.”
