Something about ZED-ry.

Dear Damien,

Zed is crazy. I have to tell you about him. I met Zed when I was transferred here in June. He has some sort of feminine traits. No, its not the bodylanguage. He is one of those metrosexual men who has 10 different pairs of formal loafers (they all look the same to me), 6 pairs of spectacle - 2 of which are of Armani frames, carries a Prada wallet and claims it was "just" a gift from someone, and doesn't think twice about wearing pastel pink and purple formal shirts to work.

The orbit of his jokes revolve around sex, food, fuck, cock, chocolates, the vah-jay-jay, sex, fuck... did I mention sex? You get what I mean. It is either that, or invariably women-centric wisecracks.

He drinks like a horse and eats like a glutton and his laugh is a cross between a roar and a cough. And to compensate for the large quantity he consumes througout the day, he has only green apples and yoghurt for breakfast. Shockingly, the only evidence that food is being actually stored are his almost cherubic chubby cheeks.

He attends to a 7 year old's distress the same way he does with a 70 year old. He takes his jokes equally seriously. That characteristic uninhibited guffaws of his laugter is heard at least a mile radius around him. It also makes everyone around him start behaving like him. What power is that? Like a contagious yawn that keeps catching on. He is shamelessly nosy, unapologetically carefree, gossips like a schoolgirl, walks like he owns the world.

I hate to admit, Damien, he makes my job a joy just by being there and by being himself. I wish you could come out and meet him but I know that you are busy. World Wide Web is a hectic junk of a place to be.

You must be wondering where is Zed now? I came home Damien, and I make it a point not to bring crazy strange men back home with me. No matter how joyfully crazy they may be. :-)

Yours,

Isa