My Christmas was nearly celebrated with a cow. And I don’t mean in the same way some people celebrate Christmas with a turkey. Although in this particular case a turkey may have been an easier option.

A few days ago is when the whole thing began. I went out to have a drink with a friend. I did have a drink, but I had a drink many times over. As a result all my senses were dulled, especially the one that is rarely used in marriage — the memory. What I do remember is that approximately around “a” drink No. 7, my friend introduced me to a friend who was — according to “a” drink No. 8 — quite delicious. Now, the problem with delicious women (and here whether your are drunk or sober is irrelevant) is that according to Einstein’s theory of relative beauty, in the presence of a delicious woman, a man’s reaction will always be the same, i.e. he will want to please her. Sadly, on this rare occasion I found that I too at the end of it all, was a man. The woman was speaking about her love for animals. My response aided by “a” drink No. 9 was to bark like a Doberman Pincher. Sorry, make that a Lhasa Apso.
She, I think, mentioned something about a sick cow that needed a home. I think at this point I stopped barking. Then “a” drink No. 10 asked me to make a cow sound, but I couldn’t for my life remember what sound cows make. The delicious woman went on about the spirit of Christmas and the art of giving. I responded in the most sincere form possible — I vaguely said (and remembered with the help of “a” drink No. 11 after which even Atilla the Hun and Alexander the Great wouldn’t know which country they were in), that it would be a badge of honour for me to give this sick bovine a house, as a Christmas message to not just her but all cows. The delicious woman kissed me on the cheek then noted my phone number and promised me delivery of the cow on Baby Jesus’ birthday. As “a” drink No. 12 dissolved safely in my stomach, I remember inquiring if she had any badgrigars, falcons, water buffaloes and mountain gorillas — all were welcome along with the bovine.
The next day I spoke to my friend hoping that none of it ever happened, no delicious woman and no bovine. Mind you! I was already a little shattered that the friend existed in the first place.
And was doubly shattered when he confirmed the story of the cow. Now came the real issue. How to break the story to my wife. My wife’s not really into the whole spirit of Christmas thing and moreover any story that I have previously told her which has begun with the words “I met a delicious women...” have always ended a little badly.
But with 48 hours and two to go for cow delivery I had to tell my wife something. I had four options: (a) I could join the salvation Army; (b) Shave my facial hair and pretend to be her sister; (c) Move residence, so that I’m not there when the cow checks in; or (d) call my good friend John D’Souza.
My friend John owns a three-acre plot somewhere near Alibaug. But since neither me nor he can pronounce the name, there is no point in even writing it down as that will lead to even more people being unable to pronounce the name. John took the news surprisingly badly. His exact words were, “A cow, are you out of your mind? I have my fill of cows. I already have two cows at home, thank you”.
Frankly, I didn’t mind him calling his wife a cow, but his 13-year-old daughter? That was another matter. There was a good chance that she’d strip some of those kilos off as the years went by. I then googled “cow” and after bypassing some female middle-aged stars, I found out four important facts about cows: (a) cows aren’t human; (b) cows can’t jump over moons; (c) cows don’t grow on trees; (d) cows have two stomachs. Since none of these nuggets of information would have pleased John, I withheld every last bit. Instead I had the cow delivered to his farm directly using a device that would insure prolonged stares.
Attached to the cow was a card: “Dear, Very Merry Christmas, your husband John”.
I tell you, that ol’ Christmas spirit works every time. So Merry Xmas and may God bless you with many a cow.