Friday, March 28, 2008

In Memoriam

It has taken decades for me to finally appreciate life and living - I recall spending a fair amount of time in my teens and an embarrassingly huge part of my 20s (both early and late, can you believe it) thinking that if I just proceeded to despatch myself into the next world through a glorious orgy of self-medication, nobody would particularly be concerned least of all me.

Now that I have The Son and The Husband things are drastically different. I wouldn't miss my mortgages and car payments (or even the most recent consignment of Cookie Museum Berry Lite cookies still sitting unopened in my house) if I suddenly left, but I could not exist in a world where these 2 did not.

So to Jane, who lost her family and her life at age 36, I am so so sorry.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Brave Sir Robin

So yesterday with the extended fambly in tow (and moving in slow motion like they always do) we decided to check out The Great Singapore Flyer.

Of course I knew my mother would block up the entire stretch of Temasek Blvd with her car as she veered from extreme left to extreme right lanes of the road trying to find the entrance to the car park, but look it's the last day of a 3-day weekend and I'm too depressed to think about it.

Anyway. The other reason I wanted to check out the Flyer was not the big wheel bit of it, but also THE KENKO's FISH SPA. How intriguing it would be to sit with my feet in water as little tiny fish nibble at my toes. Closer to nature I would be. A perfect cure for end of weekend depression. Never mind that my mother, her maid and my son are all not interested and have to wait half an hour for me to finish. I am depressed. They can wait.

So at the entrance table I sit and it is a sign that they are surely doing well when the reception staff cannot be bothered to make eye contact when they say "I'll be with you in just a minute!". I sit, wait, the minutes pass, I look around and I see....

(a) a bunch of sad looking customers sitting with their feet in tanks of piss-yellow water;

(b) a bunch of fish in the piss-yellow water, not really moving; and

(c) a bunch of pale feet in piss-yellow water, being (kind of) nibbled in a half-baked way by a few listless fish.

Which is okay, even at this point. I mean, the reality is always not as cool as the fantasy, right.

Then the customer next to me, a woman, says to the receptionist: "Hey, actually I had this blister on my foot and it just burst. You think I can still put my feet in the water?" and the receptionist says "Sure, no problem. Just put a band-aid on it and you can go into the water for your treatment."

Friday, March 14, 2008

That's My Boy

Sometimes life doesn't prepare you for the little heartburns that come traipsing along, humming a little song under its breath with a wicked smile on its face.

Last Sunday, I fed The Son half a bowl of chilled beancurd, ate a few spoonfuls myself, then after getting a consensus from The Son that he wanted no more, put the plastic container with the beancurd leftovers in the dog bowl in the kitchen. Last thing I saw was the dog's head descending into the bowl, tongue sticking out and quivering in fevered anticipation of said beancurd.

Then I went into the bathroom to get ready to go out, and just like any other woman in the same position, did not emerge until a good half hour later.

I walked into the living room, all fresh and ready for a new day.... to see The Son sitting at the table, on his little stool, feeding himself from a plastic bowl of beancurd whilst The Husband watches him, beaming with fatherly pride. He was actually patting my son on the back.

Where did that bowl of beancurd come from? I asked the person who had been the sole supervisor of my first and only child for the last half hour.

Oh. He walked out of the kitchen holding a bowl of beancurd, said he wanted to eat it, so I gave him a spoon.

I think I gave that to Angus earlier.

Oh did you? Don't worry. I don't think Angus even touched it.

[Sometime later, I am alone with my son, the father is nursing his head wounds elsewhere]

Bo, honey, did you like your beancurd?


Bo, where did you get your beancurd?

From Aggis.

So what was Aggis doing when you took the beancurd?

He was ricking it.