“Bob, you’ve got ears like they are away from your head, let's get them in a bit...” As if by magic he performed cosmetic surgery on me, and my ears were back in shape in a minute. Next, he focused on my signature disheveled, hair. “Ah! I wanted to fix this one for a long time... here we go.”

Now I looked neatly combed. I must admit he has skills. I mean, he literally made me look so different that I couldn't believe it myself.

Ron, like an artist, stretched his arms when he was through and said, "Now that's a pretty boy!”

Aaliyah, pushed me aside, took a look at the screen and said in a quiet but clear voice, “Yeah, Ron, that guy looks good, but he isn't Bob.”

Steve was apparently hit by the "shopping bug" too, and went on a buying spree. Now, I had to carry two bags instead of one. When we were done, there was a truckload of stuff to carry. I unceremoniously dumped most on Steve. It looked like a skyscraper in his hands with the box at the top almost touching his forehead. He could barely see! Somehow, we stumbled to the parking lot and Steve screamed instantly. He dropped the goods and shouted at full decibel "I got a gun, if you touch my bike, you are toast!"

The guy who was trying to get started on the bike scooted letting the bike fall on the ground with a thud.

Bravo! Megan and I looked at Steve admirably... oh man! He was proud until he saw his bike just beside the one that fell. Poor fella had left his own bike for the fear of a gun. And Steve just chased him away from his own bike. Anything is fun when Steve is around, even shopping!

He was old and his eyesight was poor. He used the fork on the table more than the plate and spilled wine from time to time. The businessman thundered aloud his immodesty and bragged about how he owns half the town, his lineage, cars, et al. He didn't quite make an impression and Megan's granddad, Mr. Branson stole his thunder with his sweet stories and this irked the rich one! He could see people smiling when Mr. Branson was on and dutifully eating when he came on with his sermon.

Offended, he called for a change of seat. He was irritated by the old man's untidy table etiquette and complained loudly about it. Just then, Mr. Branson happened to spill some soup, which found its way to the floor. Last straw...

“Damn you, old man, you are a fool, you should be ashamed of yourself... I just can't stand him!” And eyed the chair next to Rachel.

Everyone of us were too stunned to speak...

Rachel wiggled out of the chair with tiny feet touching the floor. She took the teddy from the chair next to her, made a roundabout, walked over to the businessman. “It's alright, you don’t need to sit beside a fool” - this she delivered straight to Mr. Branson, held his arm and offered the chair beside her.

Mr. B, our boss, has a cool head on his shoulders alright, but when you spring surprises like the way Ron does, you should've nerves of steel to keep your composure intact.

He sneaked in a Jack-O-Lantern to work and it was a designer one! Yes. It had the eye sockets dug and tastefully carved out nose and mouth to make it look scary errr. . . rather funny. Anyways, our Resident Evil Ron, though technologically-challenged, did go the Einstein-way and wired the lights to the sockets, coiled a few coils, taped tight some sundry wires; plugged it in and announced "Mission Accomplished" Bush-style! Looked real neat, I should confess. Of course, we immediately cried for a "demo," but alas, none was forthcoming. Ron said it had to wait until Mr. B entered.

And so came our Boss with a grand swagger breezing past and stood in his tracks on seeing the alien pumpkin, Ron errr. . . the Lantern! Momentary silence as Boss stood, staring at the creature. With the right pause and timing Ron made his move and hit the switch. The lights came on and there was an eerie glow that engulfed the room, the colors were Wow and the scene scary. . . almost. Genius Ron, I thought! And then the inevitable happened. Sure, the lights were cool, but realistically they were hot and they heated up the vegetable, the accumulated pressure releasing as it must. The sockets turned red with electric glow and the left eye turned a missile and there was eye contact with Mr. B himself! Eye contact? Yes. Literally. The left eye hit the right eye of the Boss and all hell broke loose. Pandemonium ensued and calm was restored only when we could extinguish the fire. When the dust settled, Boss stood in the middle of the remnants of half-burnt paperwork and darkened furniture facing the shivering Ron, the ex-genius. This time Mr. B's eyes were red hot without any supportive wires or coils from Ron.

He thundered, "Ronnnnn, you better explain."

A pregnant pause. Pin drop silence. All eyes on Ron. . . .

All he did was open his mouth and the smoke came gushing, poor fellow, he has had the taste of his own fire. . . he looked a half-burnt Simpson!

Last weekend, Megan had other plans and I had to go alone. Why not take Rachel, my niece, I thought. Well, I was in a fix; I don't know how to go about this one. Lizzie is an orphaned kid living in less privileged circumstances while Rachel is in another plane. As I drove with Rachel on my side, I thought of starting a conversation, but never managed the correct opening. It's never easy being the Big Boy sometimes. The point is, I couldn't just explain to her that she has to be nice to Lizzie and never comment about her lifestyle or lack of things...stuff and all that. We were already there and once I stepped on the grass, I heard the shriek first, yes, that's a signal. The roller-coaster named Lizzie was on her skates and we were the target. She did meet us, but we could converse only lying down. Yes. She knocked the wind out of us, tripping us down. The naughty one! I look around for Rachel who was right now in a fetus position and before I could calm her and introduce them, they were already in shaking hands....err.. rather wrestling terms. They were rolling around trading punches. Ouch! Tiny fists do hurt. They were screaming as the fight has come to a stalemate both holding each other in a lock so none could move.

Disaster!

I stuttered to my feet, went around and put some distance between them.

They stared at each other and then Rachel went, "that's an ugly one."

I followed her eyes to the wound inflicted by Rachel on Lizzie's arm. She immediately took Lizzie aside and led her to the running water by the corner. The fighter has gone caretaker in an instant and a few minutes later I could see them rolling on the grass again, but giggling this time.