Hare and Her Hunting

AT 23, with no boyfriend -- not even a half-a-crush -- I am, according to my mother, a marriage-market material. I know it sounds anti-feminist, nevertheless it is the truth.
However, being the material is not enough. You have to sell the product -- in this case me -- in the most attractive package.

Mothers, like bosses, have a tendency to have their way by "I-am-always-correct" persuasion. Her marketing strategy was to pitch for my physical appearance.

I am not unattractive but getting dressed up for a photo-op is not my cup of tea. So, after numerous cold feet and ingenuous excuses on my part and unnecessary melodrama on my mother's, I was finally blackmailed to pose for a photograph.

I never take things lying down. I didn't make an exception for that day either. I went to the photo-op in my oldest, most dowdy-looking dress, no make-up, zero jewellery and wild, straight-out-of-bath unruly hair.

To say the least, I was scary. No amount of cajoling by my mother could budge me from my resolve to look like a fright-sight.

Oh, I also wore the nastiest frown I could muster. The photographer could neither make me sit, nor make me give a milder-expression.

My dour-looking face was forever captured in digital format.
It was a foolproof plan. Nobody in his right mind would even want to considering marrying a girl who looked like the leading witch in a Ramsay Brothers' horror film.

Unfortunately for me, we live in an age of multimedia. And I had completely underestimated the power of Photoshop.

Two days later, when I saw myself in print, I couldn't believe my eyes. I was leaner, taller, fairer -- and surprise, surprise -- smiling.

My frown had been airbrushed into a Mona Lisa sort-of smile. And my mother had won without any effort.

In the photograph, I looked like a "Groom Wanted" girl -- which was exactly what my mother had set out to do.

After the entire pointless exercise I learnt three things:
1) Never try to outsmart your mother. She will always win.
2) I hate Photoshop.
3) I will get married, no matter how much I try to sabotage my mother's efforts.

So, nowadays, the only thing I can do is sit down and listen patiently when my mother is ranting off prospestive groom's biodata. Oh and stare at that airbrushed, I-am-a-Mona-Lisa photo and ask, "How could I not see this coming?"