Om.. Om.. Om.. OM.. OM.. OM..

Am still trying to calm down after an unfortunate incident this morning when The Boss used my Mac lip pencil to write a note. To his credit, he didn't complete the writing of the note once he realised it was a lip pencil. To my credit, I didn't pass out. Maybe I should stop putting my lip pencils and eye pencils in the stationery holders.

Which still isn't as bad, I think, as the locum doctor who put his hairspray with the anaesthetic spray and the sterilising spray next to the operating table of a clinic where my mom worked. Fortunately, she saw the "true-to-colour" Loreal label before she sprayed fixing gel into an open wound.

To top the morning off, have just looked at the fine print for my health insurance medical checkup tomorrow and it ominously reads "blood profile". Please please please let this translate into a pulse reading. Or a detailed examination of my NRIC for blood type information. Urrrgh.

Ok. It could be worse. It could read "stool profile" or something equally unspeakable. Like the time in a previous work place where all our staff had to provide a stool sample. And to twist the knife a little deeper, the lab did NOT want the entire piece, just a sample. I, having opted out, could have done without a detailed description but my then secretary came to the office the next day with a sad tale of how she had to, um, do Number 2 on a piece of newspaper and then extract a cross-section of, um, the product into a test tube which she transported to work using the MRT.