Starcrossed

With work taking up most of my time and old age catching up on me, I don’t get to make as many new friends as magazines tell me I should. The world of blogs help, but one of the easiest places to make friends are at the gigs I am duty-bound to attend as Stinky’s partner. Unfortunately the people there tend to be at least 5 years younger than I am and the gulf is starting to widen.

Young friend: Wah, the new guitarist is really good. How old is she? She rocks!
Me: I think she’s 24 (and thinks to myself, “ahh…24, so young”).
Young friend: WHOA! That old, huh?
Me: Yep, and you can start calling me granny from now on.

Stinky and I are off to Singapore again this weekend. Various errands and business to take care of – signing the contract, meeting up with our friend Billy, replenishing my stock of Kiehl’s lipbalm and Havaianas sandals…but most importantly to witness and celebrate the wedding of our dear friends, Dali and Ravi. While Stinky has been talking to himself over the merits of making an entrance to Baby, I Love You or dancing to the sweet sounds of The Beatles, I’ve been in a frenzy of shopping and coordinating my ensemble. Unfortunately, I’ve overlooked one very important thing – Stinky’s outfit. His idea of acceptable wedding garb is a knitted shirt from British India, jeans and vintage sneakers. Thankfully Dali stepped in and vetoed the jeans. Now we just have to find the time to make a stop at Dockers. Yeay!

*Must remember to stuff my new clutch with tissues. I’m so gonna cry.*

Sensing that he hasn’t been the focus of our attention the past couple of days and being the wanker primadonna he is wont to be, George has retaliated by sulking in the closet and appearing wan and sick when he isn’t. He has somehow achieved to catch an eye infection last night and although he doesn’t have a fever, he yowls the most darned meows and bites ankles – typical George-is-sick behaviour. Sigh. I should have raised miniature pigs instead.

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