Mr Invisible

Easy enough to disappear into the crowd, especially for a Mr Average like me ( that's if I'm not tottering about in pink feather boa and stiletto heels on that day of course ). Safe in our relative anonymity, we tend to imagine that we walk unobtrusively in teeming crowds, blending in with the rest of the boring suit-and-tie work lemmings, all an indistinguishable mass of generic grays and blues.

Not knowing that there are nefarious characters actually watching us, picking us out from the crowd and following our every move. Very Big Brother. Very Enemy of the State.

Very wicked ISO.


My spidey-sense is tingling!
Have you ever had felt like someone was watching you? Every once in while I do get that odd tingling sensation at the back of my neck, the paranoid feeling that an enemy's stalkerish gaze is actually boring into your skull. Probably some evolutionary safeguard to warn of a passing predator - a deep-seated basic instinct our primitive ancestors developed over time for their ongoing survival.

Caveman #1 : Ooh. Ooh. Head tingle.
Caveman #2 : Headache? Head rush?
Caveman #1 : No. Pins and needles.
Caveman #2 : You developed the art of acupuncture already!?
Caveman #1 : No. No. Different.
Caveman #2 : It might have something to do with the sabretooth tiger behind you.

Well. I did say it takes time to develop.

And yet lately my patently unreliable sixth sense seems to be acting up ( fortunately these days I don't have to fend off voracious prehistoric predators ) - or so my stalker claims since he called me up this evening with creepy, gravelly voice to tell me I'm being followed.

My ISO : I see you.
Paul : Through your evil looking eye-glass?
My ISO : Very funny. I see you now.
Paul : Never thought you were blind.
My ISO : And is that your Charming Calvin?
Paul : What?! Where the hell?

Cue the frantic swivelling head as I turn to look for the evil perpetrator but he's somehow sight unseen. Since I find it hard to imagine my ISO in shady Afro wig, ginormous shades and trenchcoat sprinting behind marble pillars to hide ( that's something I would do! ), I look for him in plain sight but somehow or rather he's been bombarded overnight by solar radiation to mutate into Mr Invisible.

Paul : Where are you, you evil monster? Show yourself!
My ISO : I'm watching you. You're wearing your damned British India shirt again. Bwahahaha. I know what you did last summer.
Paul : Yeah you do. Doing you, you mean?
My ISO : True, but that was two summers ago at last count.

Embarassingly enough, that's true. And I can't believe I actually cried out 'show yourself' like some quivering, helpless Victorian heroine hiding behind a voluminous curtain.

Not sure what to tell an oblivious Charming Calvin ( who took a toilet break when I got the stalkerish call ) since my ISO was smart enough to tell me that he'd left the premises before I could catch him. Though he claimed to be awfully tired, I have a feeling he probably shied off due to some admittedly shallow reasons such as a messed-up coiffure or a button missing from his shirt.

Maybe even a pimple on his smooth butt.

A sudden fit of bashfulness as he claims? I seriously doubt it. :P