Comfort Zone

“I don’t care what you do with it, I just want it gone,” Alex said, pointing at the dollhouse.

They had married for love, but the cultural gaps remained. They never could adopt each other’s way of life. Strangely, she remained fixated in her childhood years, the time of her life she cherished so much. The nursery prints she wore, the bread-butter-jam and tomato ketchup meals she had and using outdated brands all spoke of an obsession. She had retained all the soft toys and doll-houses she could in the bedroom. Millions of new brands had been introduced in the market, umpteen new restaurants and cuisines introduced to the place they lived in, but she refused to move out of her comfort zone.

Alex was justifiably worried. She was all of 62 years old.


First Line Friday at MLMM


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