We called in 2010 with much moaning. And some groaning. Tut tut, what were you thinking. The spouse decided that he wasnt to be left behind in the falling ill stakes and decided to go for it gung ho. So he rolled on bed for three days and nights with high fever, playing the martyr, wrapping himself in blankets and being smelly and unbathed and all woe is me. At which point, the child and I shifted ourselves to the child’s room and occasionally dropped by to check temperatures and administer medicine and deliver food.
Nope. Am not a heartless female dog. Its just that the child, given his propensity to febrile seizures, needs to be kept at a fair distance from anything that feels a bit above body temperature. Which also explains why he drinks even his milk cooled down to ridiculous levels. The anniversary celebrations, as you might guess, were suitably altered to include moaning, groaning and feeling sorry for oneself as part of the agenda. In fact, the only moment in the entire day that I actually felt that the day was worth celebrating was when a friend came home at night bearing a bouquet. So much for my dreams of the LV Alma. Excuse me while I mope around for a bit and feel terribly sorry for myself. I might even wring out the towel and mop the floor for a bit with the tears. Might save water, given the current state of the water crisis in the city.
The city, speaking of which, gives me no cheer too. After one heavenly day when the minimum temperature sank to 13.5 degrees Celsius, the thermometer bounced right up to obscene for December/January levels of 19 degrees C and 21 degrees C. I spent much of the weekend putting away all the woollens I had taken out in hope and anticipation right up in the loft. And I stare longingly at newsclips of fog and flight delays and cold temperatures reaching down to the minus, and look up at the fan overhead whirring at full speed and mourn my fate to be doomed in a city that never winters, and never lets me have the pleasure of a winter wardrobe.
We have also shifted into a new office. A split level one, with tiny stairs going up to where I am supposed to be seated. After much deliberation, I decided to throw the stilettoes off and clamber up barefooted. Better safe than stylish. Climbing up and down one gadzillion times a day is so going to do wonders for my thigh muscles. Im going to think positive. Yes I am. The good news is that I get to do up a brand new office. The trouble with working with the husband is that the same fights one had while doing up the home get replicated while doing up the office. Therefore, he’s a reds and purples person and I am a beige and whites and neutrals person. We’re currently dividing walls by tossing coins. I think a rubik’s cube kind of look is what we’re going to bring into vogue.