It was the morning after the New Year’s bash. I was nursing a massive hangover and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot when suddenly there was a puff of smoke which had me gagging and rubbing my eyes. A gentle cough made me glance upward and there before me stood a roly poly gentleman in a tuxedo. The jacket a bit tight around the midriff.
“Who,” I asked the tuxedoed fellow, “Are you?”convinced it was an illusion.
“The genie of the champagne bottle, sir,” said the stout illusion.
“But,” I pointed out after a moment of thought, “Genies reside in brass lamps.”
“Oh,” laughed the apparition. “That is so passé. We genies moved into more comfortable quarters. Brass lamps can be very, very restrictive. However,” he went on, “As is customary with us genies, may I inform you of your rights. You have but one wish to make. And I assure you I will try my best to fulfil it. But of course there are terms and conditions.” And he conjured up a pamphlet and handed it over.
“But,” I objected, “Genies are supposed to grant three wishes.”
“Not anymore,” said the genie. “At the last Genies’ Convention at Geneva we decided to hone it down to one.”
I figured this was too good an opportunity to miss and whipping out a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen I made a list of things I always wanted. However, to every wish I put forth the genie had objections. A million dollar yacht for instance would not fit anywhere in the seas around Mumbai. A fleet of limousines would consume oceans of petrol and run up big bills. A massive mansion would be much too impractical for a single person like me.
Whatever else he might produce this genie was extremely adept at producing excuses. So finally I asked for the only thing possible and practical. I asked the genie to replace the bottle of champagne he had taken up as residence.
At least I could get drunk.
……still wondering who
is the butler