The smaller the pip, the louder the squeak

So today was a crazier day as compared to yesterday. I slept at three in the morning after having read half of the ‘A concise Chinese-English dictionary for lovers’ in which the third angle of the triangle seems to be ‘Chairman Mao’ who props up almost all through the book (well, the first half at any rate) in the mind of the female protagonist and mouths pearls like ‘A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery…’
The book almost read, I decided to tune into my channel (Meow) that was playing music that made me proud of working there. I mean, really. It’s the kind of stuff I have downloaded on my computer and that is saying a lot, though most people might well doubt my matchless taste in music (although I don’t quite understand opera much, how can a man get stabbed and then instead of bleeding like most people, he starts to sing!)
So, to cut a long story short, I slept at three and was woken up at nine by my friend and soul mate-Varun. He’s the kind of person who believes in solutions, not problems, which is why he reflects that the world’s problems would be solved if the hungry eat the homeless. Besides I adore him for making me realize that one never knows where to look while eating a banana. These are the things that enhance the knowledge of a therapist I am sure.
Ok, but now back to me, so I woke up and now after whiling away enough time figuring out how the sensex knows the waltz better than anyone I personally know, I was beginning to get restless and various home remedies for chicken-pox were pouring in from everywhere. All the relatives I had assumed dead for years were calling in to ask after my health and that only just added to my ire if anything.
At about noon, mom suggested I see her friend who is also a doctor (or so he claims, though I have never yet seen a certificate to support the fact) and I heartily agreed. Anything to stop me from getting into a fist-fight with dad, after all we were the kind of people, typical of my species I presume, to show our love by fighting it out.
In no time, I was sitting at the doctor’s stark clinic and thinking to myself that minimalism as a form of style should have died as ‘minimialistically’, without a fuss, but then again it’ll be like hoping for women to finally learn how to put on mascara without having to keep their mouths wide open.
The doctor seconded the earlier two doctors view of the dastardly pox (by his chronological number, he should have ‘thirded’ the opinion) and I came back home with not one but three medals of official recognition of my chicken pox. I felt like an achiever. I finally had what nobody else I know has, even if it is a lackluster chicken pox, it is better than being run-of-the mill. Mom, if you are reading this, I think it is time that you knew that I suffer from acute attention deficit syndrome. Knowing ma though, she’s bound to differ and call it ‘a-cute ADS’.
So what started as a small rash post my spa- session last Saturday has now garnered enough attention to be made into a reality show by itself. That is what the ‘snowballing effect’ is called I presume.