But I'm an angel

One would think that Fuzzy's wicked tag would be easy for me. After all, she is so fabulously wicked, and I do consider her my twin.

But here's the thing. She's the sexy evil twin with the pitchfork and pointy red horns. Me, I'm the one wearing that shapeless white dress and sanctimonious expression.

As a result, my career in wickedness has not exactly been stellar. I have had a few moments though:

As a 2 year-old, I was a jam freak. Shopping with my mom at a small co-operative store and noticing that she hadn't bought any 'daam', I toddled off to get some myself. Undaunted by the discovery that the rows of glass jam bottles were neatly arranged out of reach, at the top of the shelf, I proceeded to climb the shelf to get one. The shelves not being built for climbing, came crashing to the floor, glass bottles and all. And what did I get for trying to be helpful? 3 stitches and a scar on my forehead that I carry to this day.

In high school, no one ever suspected model-student-me of being the co-author of a popular parody of a Bollywood hit. Each high school teacher had a verse dedicated to her - they provided such rich material for this that it was ridiculously easy to compose the 7 stanza song. It was sung in school for weeks, with modifications and additions made by assorted anonymous song-writers, so that by the time one of the teachers heard it, it was too hard to trace its origins back to the real culprit(s).

In college, I took the state-wide entrance test for MBA admissions - just for fun. By the time I took the test, I already knew that I was going to one of the IIMs, making the results completely irrelevant. I promptly forgot all about it.

So when one morning, my mom answered the door to a reporter from a local newspaper who informed her that her daughter was the highest ranked girl in the state, she was genuinely surprised. She hadn't even known that I'd taken the test. She called me into the living room and we proceeded to stupefy the reporter with the following conversation:

Mom: "Did you take the state MBA entrance test?"
Me: "Oh that! Yeah, a couple of months ago. Why?"
Mom: "Apparently, you're ranked 6th in the state and first among the girls."
Me: "Really? That's not bad. But how'd you know?"
Mom: "She told me."
Me: "Oh, thanks. That's good to know."

The reporter, used to being fed sweets by ecstatic parents, and receiving quotes from students about how hard work and the blessings of God and parents made it all possible, decided that she had got the wrong address.

Reporter: "Are you Ms. P____ M____?"
Me: "Yup, that's me!"
Reporter: "Aren't you happy about this achievement?"
Me: "Sure." (a shrug) "It's a good feeling."

At this point she gave up, and with a mumbled request for a photo (that I said I'd send her but never did), set off in search of more normal rank winners who would give her a better reaction and some quotable quotes. Poor thing.

And then there was the time I danced on a table in a full mess hall at dinner time, dressed as Scary Spice, along with 4 other girls pretending to be the Spice Girls. (Which reminds me, there must be photographic evidence of that somewhere. It must be found and destroyed.)

So you see, I really am an angel. Right?

Right.