I was expectantly elated when Miss Mona Lisa ordered me to drop my pants, and immediately did the needful. Within a short span of less than three seconds my excessively lustful and pervert mind imagined a set of potentially wonderful possibilities. However, what happened was far from wonderful and I was subjected to the keen eyes of a worried nurse, while my requests for the far more interesting activities consistently fell on deaf ears!
Now, of late the requests to drop my pants (often shorts) has gone up at an alarming rate. Often these people are complete strangers, though not necessarily always. In fact my friends and office colleagues insisted that I do it for them as well and in the office itself, with much cunning persuasion I convinced them that doing at home would be a better idea, and somehow managed to save the modesty of our shared sacred works space.
However, in most cases I am not so lucky and as and when I am ordered to shed my pants, I oblige. Even as I escaped Ahmedabad last week and landed in Chennai, the strange request from strangers did not cease. They still smiled at me and politely request me to drop it all for them. And to top it all, told me the exact time after three days when I should come and drop my pants again for them. As always, grudgingly I smiled and agreed. Such is life!