And so I wore a nice tie front soft green top with paisley print chiffon sleeves and some chiffony bits flowing around the front.
And all I could think of when I saw myself in a reflected shop window was sugarcane juice. And the fact that I seemed like a rounded jug of sugarcane juice.
So there I was outside a sugarcane juice stall downing glasses of the stuff like it was going out of stock much to the stiffled giggles of the collegians standing around in their Twiggy poses with handspan waists and collarbones.
And the back of my mind wondering how much e-coli I had just ingested without a moment’s pause in said beverage. And whether the man feeding in those sugar canes into the machine had adequately washed his hands after his morning abulations.
I stopped at the chemists on the way back and bought some ORS sachets just in case. And checked my forehead to feel if it felt any warmer than usual.
What? What? What?
The only good thing about hoping one gets typhoid is that last time I went into the ring I came out 15 kilos lighter, with hair pin bends at the waist curvature level, and needed a belt to hold my pants up.
Which reminds me I need to go out and buy me some belts too!
A girl can hope, can’t she?