By Yamini Zerfas
A regular female consumer of deep-fried potato is just about to slip a chip into her mouth when suddenly, there is a flurry of official, martial activity around her. As she looks around in surprise and faint annoyance, a voice – male, smooth and clearly born of science – calls out.
Put down your French Fry and step away from the table, madam. Now turn around, slowly, keeping your hands where we can see them. Know that anything you say or do will be used against you in a court of law judged by your peers.
Sigh. It is just as we suspected.
How did you come to acquire that belly roll? How have you not been apprehended previously by your husband for breaking the single most important law ever written, passed or bludgeoned into collective consciousness by the makers of popular culture?
You have no excuse.
However, on account of us feeling sorry for your sorry, underappreciated self, you may have one last shot at redemption. Here is a spoon of honey for your glass of water. It may be your only chance at recovering and sustaining your social and erotic capital.
You can thank us now. After all, if the magnificently proportioned Bipasha Basu can feel this way about her assets, what are your chances of surviving the downfall of your desirability?
What, you don’t want it? But-but why not? But what about that poor fellow sitting there opposite you, smiling benevolently as you stuff your face with deep fried carbs? So what if he tells you he’ll love you even if you get fat, surely you know better than to believe all that liberal nonsense?
What’s that? We don’t know what that hand gesture means, madam, could you explain it to us? Oh. Right.
But yourself? What about loving yourself? Surely your delusional self-regard could not have survived the onslaught of body-critiquing messages in our cultures? What? What is that you are saying? Madam, there is steam coming out of your ears, please calm down, stop spitting as you speak and drink this glass of water. There, there. Feels better doesn’t it?
Perhaps it is best that we continue this conversation in the presence of your lawyers and doctors. We’ve heard they are the only people who can advise women like you against the perils of reactionary behaviour. Madam, please stop making those hand gestures at us, we do not understand them and even if we did, you lack the necessary appendages to give them gravitas.
What? Wait, what is that sound? Oh God, why is she carrying a chainsaw in her purse? Madam, you are being unreasonab-
A scene, most Tarantinoesque in its blatant disregard for due process.
“Yappa! Ey, pass me the tomato sauce, no?”
They eat in silence.
Of course, cosmic fuckwittery may have resulted in her stopping mid-chew, clutching at her chest in agony and keeling over backwards before one could mouth the words ‘Lipid Profile’ at her. But no, universe, you do not get to have this one. Here is another rude hand gesture instead. Take it and go.