Not a very good idea

I was confessing to a friend that I have become very bored and hence very boring as a person considering the fact that almost everyone I know in the world is:

(a) out of the country

(b) married/engaged

(c) process of hunting for a future missus or mister

(d) just too darn lazy to do anything on the weekend. (Not even commenting on the weekday)

This leaves me with the best company I know….me. And I’ve gotten quite bored with myself.

The suggestions to solve my extreme boredom on weekends (and weekdays) because I’m trying very hard not to be one of those blokes who loves work so much that I forget everything else…

(a) Get married (Absurd stupid suggestion…. Even Warren Buffet recommends that you don’t do things just because everyone is doing it)

(b) Get a girlfriend ( *After much hysterical laughter* Erm….no. Girlfriend’s are like Bournville… you don’t get them, you earn them…..and I am extremely underpaid)

(c) Get a dog

PS: Notice, we MBA types love MCQs.

Of the above 3 options, let’s analyze option ‘c’. Nikhilesh Murthy owns a dog…interesting!!! What breed would it be? I’d prefer a large dog…something like a Golden Retriever or a German Sheppard. I really don’t see myself going for a Pug or a Dachshund or one of those tiny dogs. It’ll be the whole Activa ego complex all over again. But it definitely won’t be one of those dogs that drools all over the place, thinking about that dog from ‘Turner and Hooch’.

Now that we have agreed on the breed of dog, time for a name. I’ve always had a thing for calling a dog, or even a baby, by the name of ‘Hector’. (Silly fetish sitting in my head after friend and ex-colleague told me this joke). Then any time I call it, the dog, or the baby, it’ll be like Brad Pit in Troy, “Hector…… Hector…… Hector….”. Going by this, I can even call that dog, or baby, ‘Sparta’. Then when anyone asks the name, I can pull a Gerard Butler, with all the spit flying in their face and scream,” This is Spaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarta.” All this holds good only if it is a big dog. Imagine I yell,’This is sparta’ and point at my confused excuse for a living creature pet Chihuahua. Or, we keep it simple and call the dog ‘Johnny’…”heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere’s Johnny’. All these are no good if it’s a she-dog. I have no names in mind.

To my friend I say this, at this point in time; I am not fit to take care of a dog, a cat, a turtle, a spider, a rogue iguana or even a baby Velociraptor. The only living thing I should be able to look after is probably a really small cactus. All I’ll have to do is put a reminder on my phone, to water the darn thing once a year. And I don’t have to worry about people (namely women thinking they’re still teen-something girls) making banshee like sounds at the cactus.

I remember this one time where I went to the stuffed toy section at the toy store to pick up something for my colleague’s daughter who had just turned one. I am not used to buying anything for another person, so this took a lot of thinking as to which stuffed toy would be appropriate; when all of a sudden I hear this almost teeth-grinding like screech going,”Theeeeeeeees eeeeeeeees chooooooooooooo cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute. I want eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet”. I turn around to find this grown woman shrieking away looking at some pink teddy bear while the boyfriend/husband stood behind with a stoic ‘I wish I were single’ expression on his face.

I figure owning a dog, means taking it for a walk, which means there is a chance women would look at the dog and make these incomprehensible siren sounds, forcing me to twist my face into a form that can only be described as ‘when a bear gets it foot caught in a rusted metal trap’. Anyway, no dogs for me. The quest for a PS3 will continue.