I see so many running clubs/groups when I’m driving home from work at night that have ended their jog with a beer all together at a pub and all I want to do is get into my exercise gear, slap my cheeks red, pour a glass of water over myself, and ‘catch up’, panting, pretending I’ve just done the run with them, get myself a beer at the bar and hang out with all my new mates.
Bought a new car.
Sat at several sets of lights in said new car next to Richard Branson who had a woman in his passenger seat dressed like princess Fiona from Srek.
Got drunk in the day time.
Sprayed sparkling water over every surface of a taxi.
Got yelled at by the taxi driver.
Said Selamat Hari Raya to him.
He yelled at me again (he’s not Muslim)
Did some sleeps.
McDonald’s – spelling ‘through’ wrong since 1955 and getting away with it.
If I was pregnant, the only thing I would be happy about is that I could finally let my gut out after 15 years of sucking it in, it’s time would have come to relax and just be itself.
Upon being asked by my work mates if I wanted to go out for a drink with them after work, my reply was “no….I’m tired, I just want to go home and poo in my own toilet”
I’d say that was a fair call for working on a Sunday, wouldn’t you?
Sometimes I like to linger a while down the pet food isle at the grocery store and fantasy shop for all the pets I don’t have.