Her Highness

The other day I noticed a shiny Porsche GT2 on my rear view mirror. It was a topless convertible on oversized Michelin tires. I noticed it because the car was approaching like a rocket behind me, with a nice jet trail and all. I thought the guy driving that must either be Mel Gibson (drunk and doped up) or a silicon valley CEO driving his wife to an emergency room.

I stopped at the next red light when the rocket came to a screeching halt right adjacent to me, smoking the tires and all. You could cut the smoke with a pairing knife. I strained my neck and took a peek through the clouds. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
It was not Mel Gibson.
It was not a CEO driving his wife to a labor room.
It was a woman.
A young woman.
A young Indian woman.
A young south Indian woman.
A young south Indian woman in silk burgundy saree, gold ear rings and a blindingly shiny diamond nose stud. She looked too stunning to be piloting a GT2.

I got carried away and started salivating all over the steering wheel. I don’t know how she found out that I was looking, but she DID find out that I was looking. She turned and looked at me like I was a minor jerko and gave me THAT SMILE. I felt like a fool. I turned blue and the light turned green. By the time I stepped on my accelerator the GT2 disappeared like a bullet.
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it.

I only hope it was her highness Srinija Srinivasan. Or I be damned.