bender and the bard

folks, meet my dad and my grandpa.

1st B
My paternal grandpa is a legend.
Having lived a life through the fast lane (he was a taxi driver), he roamed Gua musang-Kl in no time.
I dread his comments on driving (insecurity factor) but relished his proud comments :oh girl, you drive better than your brother *snicker snicker*.

He's cool, so laidback to a point that I must've inherited his "yeah whatever modus". We even call him ayah (dad) instead of the normal atuk tokwan and whatnots.
He drives a cool 200 kmph, and still complains on his slow driving. But he's the most safest driver I'd known (after my dad and ME, of course) ~ I could sleep through his racing back to Pasir Mas. We share the same interest on cars, rallying and simply, the fast and furious driving. He's shown to me what a alpina beemer is all but beauty. Ahh.
My grandma would sheepishly gossip about him, pointing to him and my dad, saying : "look at them. They look like brothers, no? "

They should've been. Dad's nearing 52, and my grandpa is 70+.
Dad wears the more bouldering burdens of responsibility look, and grandpa is so young at heart. He sports the stylish look, and dad the corporote look. So there.

But my cheeky brother really had to say: grandpa reminds him of Bender, of the Futurama fame.
Because he's 'light' and carefree.
Naughty me, but I concurred!(not at all admitting that he is of tin kosong,value: HE IS NOT! but truly, because he's cool and yeah..light). He had never been harsh to us. Except when he's into his wrestling antics. He's a fan. And my brother Fais inherited his hobby. It all runs in the family.

Second B
I was a sucker for shakespearean works since pakngah tried to shut me up by piling the bard's work when I was 10.
The weird twist and use of language. And since there on, I never spoke properly as I should (blaming is a defense mechanism. Works except against Mak) and I'd been a romantic hopeless if not melancholic loser.

I remember enthusiatiscally persuading Jenny from my literature class to believe that the Bard is gay, after falling in love with his sonnets, read it like mad and praying that someday soon the love of my life would recite a verse from it, or two or three.

Oh well. He had given that verse of sonnet to his ex (two of it, even) and I'd created a drama about it when I shouldn't! The poor guy gave that damned verses before me, so why la the big fuss??

Girls.

And when he successfully cajouled me (when he shouldn't have to. But dearest is a sweetie), he gave a verse to me and yup. Another drama. I don't understand myself.
I'd wanted to have the damned sonnet from him, but I'm all ego building to know that I shared the same work with some ex.

I should've been grateful. And dearest was so patient. I love you.
Guess I'm all like you lasses out there, just selfish and bloody greedy.
Dearest, I know now. All that you are, is all that I want. I guess if all women in the world keep up with this mantra and be less demanding, the divorce rate could drop drastically. Dramatically of all sorts.

Girls.

Ah. No wonder bard preferred the other man. Hahahahha.

Enough. Its the taming of the shrew!! (i am the shrew??)