VOL 8 ISSUE 5.5
After settling into his new 5,250-square foot McMansion, which features a bowling alley, recording studio and an empty room referred to as “the library,” Victor Biswas bemoaned his inability to stand in one friggin’ corner for two minutes without his wife or children invading his space. He bitterly recounted last night’s debacle, when he was standing in front of the refrigerator about to enjoy a few spoonfuls of artisanal ice cream, and his wife Shama unilaterally decided to reorganize the freezer’s contents and recite a list of groceries for him to acquire today. With increasing acrimony, Biswas described his recent attempt in the theater to browse his extensive DVD collection for a clever, well-executed superhero movie he had not seen enough times, which was promptly discontinued when two-year-old JJ placed the lure of a play fishing rod into the back pocket of his chinos and tugged repeatedly, then resisted a hug and ripped his father’s one truly comfortable t-shirt. As the culmination of his rant at his law office, Biswas acidly discussed last Sunday afternoon, when he privately decamped to the downstairs bar and poured himself a straight small-batch bourbon that was naturally doomed to be spilled before it could even be sniffed, as he was hit in the head and upper torso by not one, but two Frisbees tossed exuberantly by his five-year-old twins, Aphrodite and Venus, who bossily conducted the first stage of clean-up themselves before their father ran outside to seek shelter, even though it would be fleeting, behind the cabana.