I am a Sir.
Call me Sir.
Shut up. Shut up I’m talking.
I am X years old. I am Y times your age- we are in no way age mates.
Do not tell me “Good Morning”, tell me “Good Morning Sir”- that Sir is imperative. Non-negotiable.
Shut up. Shut up, I’m talking. Do not attempt to interrupt me. No “buts”.
I am a Sir. Call me Sir.
Silly boy. Born last night, yet has the guts to pay me a greeting without appending my Sir.
Or what am I supposed to do to make my Sir-status obvious to you?
Scrawl my age on my forehead?
Tattoo my year of birth across my chest?
Re-depict my age as a composite of prime numbers and then sing them out to you?
I have my own Sirs too. The people I cannot dare to address without their own “Sir”.
You, are my boy. My own boy. The prestige I afford my own taskmasters, you afford me too.
Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes, that is exactly how it is going to be.
Now, where is my “Sir”?
PS: I feel slightly rusty.