Cabined Cribbed Confined

She sits in her room all day long.

All night long as well come to think of it. With the curtains shut tight to block out any ray of sunshine. Snuggled deep inside the recesses of her She-Shed so to speak, the door to her room is securely locked; hardly opening except for the few microseconds she takes to rush to the loo. Even her meals are taken in the murky, musty confines of her bastille - at least I suspect that to be the case since she doesn't even sneak out for a bite.

Either she's secretly coming up with a nefarious plan to take over the world - or she clandestinely delivered her own love child. Then again she could just be counting the sparkly dots on the ceiling boards. Don't know which one I'm more worried about.

Since her door remains perpetually locked for reasons unbeknownst, I guess no one will ever know.

Paul : Ah, you're out of prison.
Paisley : Yes, I am. I see you got a haircut.
Paul : Actually I've already had three haircuts since you were incarcerated. Even had a permed afro once.
Paisley : Really!
Paul : Well you wouldn't know for sure, would you? 

Though I'll admit that I can never understand folks who set themselves up for self imprisonment. Do they really enjoy solitary confinement? Know it's quite hypocritical for me to say so but don't they ever see the need for some fresh air? Some blessed sunshine?

Paul : Are you still alive in there? 
Paisley : *grunt*
Paul : What? Are you crushed by a cabinet? 
Paisley : I'm alive. 
Paul : Just give fair warning if you're about to expire yeah. Don't wanna clean up the decaying corpse after. 

Cabined. Cribbed. Confined.

Indeed. The proverbial girl locked up in the tower. That's one of the tenants here in Netherfield, Pretty Paisley.

And then Pretty Paisley creeps out of her dark, dank cell and whines 'OMG I am so bored. There's nothing to do here.' Then starts to wonder why there's nowhere to go, nothing to see, nothing to do.

Hell yeah, when you've been hiding in the cave all day doing a Gollum! Now how do I answer such a question without a firm backhand?

Back to the Future

For the technophiles amongst us, it would be hard to imagine not living with snazzy tech gadgets always ready at our fingertips; from the trusty laptop to the ubiquitous smartphone. So much so that a day without it would be akin to missing a limb for some!

Not really the case for my technophobic father though. Not only has he stubbornly turned his back on the relentless march of progress, the Luddite steadfastly refuses to get a cellphone. So much the better to remain uncontactable, says he. Till several weeks ago when we finally managed - after various heated family debates and discussions - to force a cellphone into his hand. All with the aid of his ever doting grandchildren of course.

Make that tape it to his wrist since otherwise he might lose it.

Perhaps it's a familial trait.

Hello? Hello? Hello?
Dad, you pressed my number again!

Obviously I hadn't realized then what kinda fool's trap I was setting myself up for. See, my father who's basically a retired homebody doesn't have all that many contacts on the new phone - his crotchety peers are similarly archaic - which is why my number keeps coming up on the list.

Constantly.

Paul : Did you call me? 
Father : Maybe. 
Paul : That's the third time you rang. 
Father : Are you free? 
Paul : Not really. I'm at work. 
Father : Oh, then nothing.
Paul : Did you call for anything? 
Father : No, just trying it out. 
Paul : Anything wrong? 
Father : No, I just called to see if you're free. 
Paul : Oh. 

And that would be after three repeated rings that caused me to would drop everything and rush over breathlessly thinking that it was a some life threatening emergency. Few people actually call me on my cellphone so it automatically makes me think of broken limbs and ruptured spleens. Nothing good obviously so you can imagine my growing panic. Only to have him drop the call when I pick it up.

Maybe it's time I added my brother's number to his contact list.