Your Theory of Relativity has really created waves and you are to be congratulated on that score. However, I have to indicate a few things that appear to have escaped your attention.
Mom is always finding fault with my lifestyle. She says I sleep all the time. When I pointed out to her what you have brilliantly derived that time is relative, she pooh-poohed the idea. She refuses to accept the fact that for a certain inertial system my nap of three hours could shrink to a mere three minutes and actually dismissed it as balderdash.
She also complains that I eat far too much—as if such a thing is possible!—and have become fat and lazy. Once again, I showed her your clever equation that establishes mass-energy equivalence to point out to her that my extra bodyweight translates into lots and lots of energy. But all she could say was, I should have my head examined.
Uncle Al, you may have convinced the world of physicists that you are onto something hot, but unfortunately you draw no dice whatsoever with your sister.
Your despairing nephew,
delusions-- the psychiatrist much concerned with my bank balance
Ever since I read about Bobby Fisher’s global fame and untold wealth, I had always dreamt of playing chess at the World Championship.
I could imagine myself ordering the organizers to arrange for pink spotlights. Not for the aesthetics but primarily because my complexion comes out beautifully on colour television. And of course, one wants to look one’s best.
I would have dozens of frames made for my glasses to go with my extensive wardrobe of shirts. I spent sleepless nights deciding between a lemon-yellow shirt with a chocolate brown tie and a pale pink chemise with a maroon coloured cravat. These things are of material importance to the Grandmaster. Insofar as shoes were concerned, I found myself in a dilemma. Calf leather shoes looked swell but what of the brand? I vacillated between Jimmy Choo’s and Tod’s.
The suit had to be tailor made in Savile Row, naturally. Complete with a matching pocket square. As for the cologne, I would settle for nothing less than the Paco Rabanne Million. Even if it cost as much. After all, money was no problem at all while playing the Championship. Sponsors would pour it in by the buckets. Rather large buckets, too. My mind made up, I felt positively elated.
There remained only one minor point to be attended to. I still had to learn how to play the game.
Truckers’ Union-- feeling quite awkward in a tuxedo
63, lives in Mumbai, India. Having entered the haiku realm in 2007 he has since written and published haiku, senryu, and tanka extensively. Shying away from haibun all this while, due to cold feet, he attempted his first haibun in November 2017. He now has nearly 50 published haibun to his credit.