Friday, October 12, 2012

Day 286/366

He knew I hated rum. Still, he’d conveniently forget to buy the whiskey I wanted before he came home every Friday. Inevitably, almost as per a well executed plan, I would end up getting drunk on the khamba of Old Monk with him. Initially, I’d hold my nose and gulp it down to guilt him into it. Eventually, I fell in love with his taste. Erm, I mean, that of the rum and coke. “DSP Black is NOT whiskey,” he’d shout. Having finished college and gotten a job that allows me to afford better, I can’t help but agree.

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