***
I Hate the Singapore Sale.

It's July already, can we just get it over with?

The need for standard issue knickers finally became pressing enough this morning when the only sensible pair of panties that I could find were the Suicidegirl boycuts. I have no idea where the others went to, but one day I'll take a peek under Mr. Big's bed and solve my little mystery.

Nah, I didn't leave any at his place; ever since I found out that the last few pairs I gave away after respective nights of amorous adventure eventually got lost anyway, Why ask for a girl’s undies if, ultimately, you’re going to chuck it with the rest of your boxers and eventually loose it. (But of course there are the occasional Victoria’s Secret modelizer wannabes that treasure every pair they get…)

I bought one for each day of the week (emphasis on day) and an extra white pair that I’m going to paint and send to the Boy, to make up for the one he lost. And this time he’d better not loose them. Maybe I’ll mount it on some black board and frame it. I doubt he’ll hang them on his wall, but it’ll still be a fun gift all the same.

***

Back to why I hate sales: Because all the shops sell crap two sizes too big.

As impossible as it is to believe, I visited 3 damn malls and not one of these had an acceptable sport-bra that fit my sadly inadequate bosom. The Nike store was only left with XXL. Who the hell wears XXL? Asian women don’t need XXL sport-bras until they turn 50 and start deciding to do Tai Chi.

***
Mr. Big doesn’t seem to have the time to meet me before he leaves for the states. I feel mildly annoyed at myself for blowing him off last night in a sudden spate of bad temper due to the weather and the fact that I gained a kilo (even though I’m pretty sure some of it went back to my chests. Which I like. And some to my waist, which frustrates me intensely.)

I ended up having an argument with some local indy art film producer who got so frustrated at my opinion on art that he shot back, “Don’t you know, fine art isn’t supposed to entertain.”

Oh, then tell me, what’s it supposed to do? Look ugly and take up public space that could otherwise be decorated with risqué breasts enlargement ads? He wasn’t making any sense and couldn’t stop using the word ‘brilliant’.

Personally, I love that word. I like using it to describe ideas for nude photo shoots the best, but using it to describe fried carrot cake? That’s really pushing it.

Uncannily, he turned out to be from my college.

Xoxox