Fuckfaces,
It has been impressed upon me by several discrete sources that I can often be perceived as lacking in empathy. Although I laughed at this assertion initially, certain recent events have transpired causing me to re-evaluate, introspect, and re-assess. I must make a clean breast of things in this regard. Considering I tell you folks most intimate things, I must make do again. This incident has 3 parts — the setup, the suspense, the climax. Before I divulge, You must remember — I joke around all the time, and sometimes I take things a bit too far. That doesn’t mean I don’t love my friends, on the contrary, I love them deeply & appreciate their presence in my life. I am just a little rustic in my expressions of love. On one end I don’t hug and cry and fucking cuddle, but on the other, I’ll hide the body for you. Here we go!
Unos — I have a friend; let’s call him Nihal. Nihal, because that’s what his Konkan parents called him when he was a wee lil kid. Nihal and I met in our first year at college. He was my lab partner. He was a little introverted but and also a little cool. He and I bonded over our dislike for a particular student. Nothings binds people quicker than hate. Eventually, she became my girlfriend, and that really messed up my friendship with Nihal. We muddled through, over a mutual liking for football. We had a good time together, mostly talking about nothing, philosophizing about nothing, joking about nothing, just a lot of nothing between us. Nihal always had sort of a pudgy build, almost like a ginger. Now — I am not trying to body shame him here, but these are the facts. Maybe genetics, or goan rice or whatever, that’s what he looked like. That never bothered me though. I have always felt beauty is irrelevant if you are a dude.
Now we remained friends all throughout college. So when last year he invited me over to his birthday party, I felt I needed to get him a present.
Dos — I am not so bad with presents. Although it must be noted, I am not too straight in the head either.
During my last meeting with Nihal I noticed that he was having a lot of pasta. He was also under a lot of stress. I put 2 & 2 together and it ended up equaling a skinny fat Goan Garfield Cat. He was already a lazy cunt. I decided I must hold a tacit intervention; also I wanted to fuck with his head. After all, friends help each other when they are in the mud & I do take my friendships seriously. So I decided to buy him an original Manchester United jersey, Manchester United being his favorite club. It was the home kit — so, proper red devil. It was so bright and velvet and shiny that even my color-blind ass could identify it from a distance. I wouldn’t say it was cheap, but those were, in fact, my Goldman days. I could throw a pretty penny around for a good laugh(& lesson).
There was one catch though. It was S size. Nihal is M. I knew that Nihal was M and that his man tits would poke out if he dared to wear it.
So when I decided to have this delivered to his house, he was initially pleasantly surprised. He called me to express his gratitude and said all sorts of wonderful things. He is an introvert, so after a while he quietened up and let the awkwardness engulf the moment. I very soon hung up the phone, for I knew what tremors were to follow. He called me back, about 13 minutes later.
Nihal — “Dude, this is S. I don’t wear S, I wear M.”
Me — “I thought you were a tiny fucker, you.”
Nihal — “No I gained some uhhhh weight, but only in the torso and back.”
Me — “I know!!! time to firm up those man boobs. Enjoy your birthday!”, and I hung up.
He didn’t respond for a few days.
Eventually, I decided to call him up and check if my plan had worked. In a disappointing turn of events, he revealed that he had given the jersey to his kid sister. Damn! I did not envision this in my otherwise perfect plan. It all fell apart. However, I was going through some dark times myself and decided to pin this on the proverbial “PROVIDENCE” & moved on.
Tres — A few days later, I rang up Nihal again. He had invited me to Mumbai earlier but, I was elsewhere. Now in NCR we could meet up. He was okay to go for a drink. I interjected with my clamoring for something athletic. Ruling out the very sensual and compelling- BACHATA, I recommended we go for wall climbing. He stopped responding right away. He waited for some time. I felt like he was stammering in silence. This silence was on mobile, a limbo slice. The sort of silence where you think you saw the person typing… but then you don’t really know. I waited and waited and waited, cut my nails, peeled some oranges, made a cheese sandwich in Nihals name, and took Coco out for a dump, which felt like an eternity. He finally responded. He replied he was suddenly unwell. HE HAD A BAD CASE OF FOOD POISONING. He said he thought my proposition had caused him to be sick. He said that he would not want to climb a wall with me because he could afford to embarrass himself on the ground but not on a wall. He told me to pick something else.
I was disappointed. My intervention had failed. I had made him conscious. Money not well spent. I may gift him an XL next time.
Having read all of this, what do you guys think?
Where did I go wrong? Should I have gifted him a fake size S jersey, following it up with the real one? Should I have just made him some oatmeal?
More importantly — was this an inadequate expression of empathy from me?
Lemme know!
Much love,
Have a beautiful day in paradise!
Honeybunny aka ARA!