Today's blessed with a warm breeze and a soft sunshine, and it seems to be brightening up everyone. Cars buzz here and there, and surprisingly traffic teems up the humble stretch of Koornang Rd. like it does on Collins St. at the CBD. Mums and dads pushing prams or tagging along kids beat the sidewalks. Dogs on leads trod silently or sit lazily outside shops waiting for their masters. It's fun watching them sit like a rock, unfazed by the admiring stares from passersby. The aroma of surrounding international cuisines, the scent of freshly washed clothes from the coin launderette across the road, and even the fumes from styling chemicals emanating from the salon next door, can tell you how vibrant this tiny strip is.
Saturdays are usually the busiest day at the strip, but today is especially busier because of the opening of the suburb's new library. It used to occupy a modest door among the string of shops on the opposite side of the road from where I work. But now, it sits exuding grandeur in the hub of the shopping centre, with its own carpark, playgrounds and a landscaped promenade linking it to the rest of the strip. From the tiny shop with a few assortment of books and a cramped space for children's storytime sessions, the new library is four times bigger and boasts of a very modern architecture with a separate multipurpose wing for preschool kids and an indoor playground. It was built with the whole community in mind, with function rooms which can be rented out by the Council and clubs. I heard the senior citizens' clubs have already gained priority access. How about that? You didn't think they were sloooow, right? :)
For the first time since I started work at the bottle shop, we'll be open on a Sunday. Yeah, we're hoping for good sales too, but we're trading mainly as part of the weekend celebration. We're giving a discount on the housewines, which should be appealing to new customers. That's bad news though for Alex.
He's an everyday customer (as different from one considered a "regular") who keeps the discount furniture shop two doors down. He just stepped in to buy his usual two bottles of Heineken lager, as he eats lunch "like Jesus" with bread and alcohol. He alternately buys Carlton scotch whisky, which he had earlier purchased, too. The whisky, he claimed, will be reserved for tomorrow for, what I thought, was a send-off party for his wife who'll soon be leaving for holidays in Greece. Well, he corrected me after and said he was going to celebrate, because he bought his woman a one-way ticket "for a grand vacation". He lets a devilish smile and a wink and shuts the door behind him. Oh, Greek he is.
Saturday, 22 October 2005
Thursday, 13 October 2005
Life in a Liquor Shop
My retail experience has finally come full circle.
Aside from learning much about wine, beers and spirits (and of course, selling them), I have rapped sales talk, swayed customers into preferring our own brand, suggested which wine can go with which cuisine, recommended grape variety/region/vintage over other types, faked personal knowledge about the product to get them convinced to buy it or not (Well, I'm no drinker to begin with.), given wine tastings complete with memorised tasting notes, snubbed off drunkards who try their luck getting more, built rapport with regulars... and today had my share of shoplifters.
There were three of them boys, all dressed in baggy jumpers and trackies. One was even sporting a sling over his shoulder, purporting an injury but actually was the bag in which to put in his picks.
While one kid was obviously trying to upset me with his sloppy chickenburger consumption by intentionally making drippings onto the floor, the other two busied themselves in the ref aisle. It seemed they hadn't only done this a few times and pretty much knew well how to distract their victim. Of course, in this case, that's me. :( Every one of them kept me busy, asking prices of different beers and spirits. Alicia, our bookkeeper, was well-hidden at the back but was also watching the chook dancer pacing near the till. Unfortunately, everything under two minutes transpired pretty smooth for the two at the ref area, which required a giraffe's neck to view from where I was.
When later I asked them for proof of age, one said he was already 23. The guy with supposedly an arm fracture produced a dilapidated passport and took out his "broken arm" to show he was tucking under his jumper a Smirnoff bottle, which we don't sell. He was trying to convince me that it was actually him in the old photo, but I was more interested in his birth date, which I noticed didn't make him at least 18 yet. He closed his passport and reiterated with annoyance that he was born in 1986. With a tight upper lip, I told him that what I read was 1989 and that even if he was born in 1986 as he claimed, he'd actually be 19 because he was born on a May. The chook them joined them and said the sealing statement for the trio, "Well, let's go. She doesn't trust you, mate."
I sure didn't.
I was sure something fishy went on, but neither Alicia nor I was brave enough to confront them on our suspicion. It left me fuming and Alicia shocked to find a drastic change in the stocktake, which we painstakingly covered in days. (Just imagine counting thousands of bottles!) When Angie, the shop owner, arrived, we reviewed the playback at the surveillance monitor. I was completely stupefied, shocked, outraged, disgusted, and basically traumatised with what we found. To be in the midst of something like that is temper-challenging and control-wracking, but the scene of it all is nauseating. How these kids commit such petty crimes and knowing they're actually aware of what they're doing, is most disturbing.
Hmmm. Let me find consolation in the fact that it wasn't a hold-up and neither of us was hurt. I know being held up or robbed will outdo this and probably truly complete my so-called life in retailing, but God, I hope that will never ever happen.
Aside from learning much about wine, beers and spirits (and of course, selling them), I have rapped sales talk, swayed customers into preferring our own brand, suggested which wine can go with which cuisine, recommended grape variety/region/vintage over other types, faked personal knowledge about the product to get them convinced to buy it or not (Well, I'm no drinker to begin with.), given wine tastings complete with memorised tasting notes, snubbed off drunkards who try their luck getting more, built rapport with regulars... and today had my share of shoplifters.
There were three of them boys, all dressed in baggy jumpers and trackies. One was even sporting a sling over his shoulder, purporting an injury but actually was the bag in which to put in his picks.
While one kid was obviously trying to upset me with his sloppy chickenburger consumption by intentionally making drippings onto the floor, the other two busied themselves in the ref aisle. It seemed they hadn't only done this a few times and pretty much knew well how to distract their victim. Of course, in this case, that's me. :( Every one of them kept me busy, asking prices of different beers and spirits. Alicia, our bookkeeper, was well-hidden at the back but was also watching the chook dancer pacing near the till. Unfortunately, everything under two minutes transpired pretty smooth for the two at the ref area, which required a giraffe's neck to view from where I was.
When later I asked them for proof of age, one said he was already 23. The guy with supposedly an arm fracture produced a dilapidated passport and took out his "broken arm" to show he was tucking under his jumper a Smirnoff bottle, which we don't sell. He was trying to convince me that it was actually him in the old photo, but I was more interested in his birth date, which I noticed didn't make him at least 18 yet. He closed his passport and reiterated with annoyance that he was born in 1986. With a tight upper lip, I told him that what I read was 1989 and that even if he was born in 1986 as he claimed, he'd actually be 19 because he was born on a May. The chook them joined them and said the sealing statement for the trio, "Well, let's go. She doesn't trust you, mate."
I sure didn't.
I was sure something fishy went on, but neither Alicia nor I was brave enough to confront them on our suspicion. It left me fuming and Alicia shocked to find a drastic change in the stocktake, which we painstakingly covered in days. (Just imagine counting thousands of bottles!) When Angie, the shop owner, arrived, we reviewed the playback at the surveillance monitor. I was completely stupefied, shocked, outraged, disgusted, and basically traumatised with what we found. To be in the midst of something like that is temper-challenging and control-wracking, but the scene of it all is nauseating. How these kids commit such petty crimes and knowing they're actually aware of what they're doing, is most disturbing.
Hmmm. Let me find consolation in the fact that it wasn't a hold-up and neither of us was hurt. I know being held up or robbed will outdo this and probably truly complete my so-called life in retailing, but God, I hope that will never ever happen.
Wednesday, 12 October 2005
Beating the Unbeatable
Well, that wasn't difficult. I didn't even have to be that creative. I just had to be attentive to what he really likes.
As we were strolling in the mall, his pointer excitedly flickers to the direction of a certain rack. Hanging there was a very handsome shirt, from whose touch of the material alone I knew came with a sparkling price tag. Well, we were in David Jones, so I should kinda expect that. Apparently, he had done some window shopping yesterday as he was whiling away the time, waiting for me to finish my shift. He knew exactly which size to try on, and when he did, my train of thoughts was arrested. I was speechless for a moment. The fit was perfect, hugging him in the right places. And seeing him both delighted and good-looking with it, is unbeatable. This is definitely heaps better than my Special Seafood Fried Rice Extraordinaire.
We did a few more mad shopping, which hasn't happened for the longest time anyway. It felt fantastic to be able to get myself a pair of jeans that I couldn't wear to work and a belt to go with it that will require a few more sit-ups. We didn't eat out, because my chef at home is a lot better, and he doesn't charge me ridiculously. :)
There was much done, but I don't think we ran out of energy just as yet. Tyrone went out to do a bit of riding while the sun was still up. I had poured mine in getting the kitchen ready for my chef's use. In my new pants sans the belt, I arranged our grocery items and cleaned up sink, floor, ref and all. Just in case he'd catch me still undone, I made sure I was wearing the cologne he gave me last night which, apart from making J Lo richer, truly gives you the glow. Hehe. :)
Dinner was sumptuous, with luxurious flavours filling our palates. Potato salad with parsley and red capsicum, chilli prawns, stir-fried kangkong in soy, and lamb and oxtail curry. To accompany was a bottle of 2001 Old Vine Grenache, which seamlessly blended with the mood of the night.
So, that was a year, and what a year it truly has been. But looking back, I realise one can never cap it off with just fine gifts or big dinners. I guess, living it every day at one's best for another's is the best way to celebrate any relationship. Nothing beats that, and I hope I'm doing just that.
As we were strolling in the mall, his pointer excitedly flickers to the direction of a certain rack. Hanging there was a very handsome shirt, from whose touch of the material alone I knew came with a sparkling price tag. Well, we were in David Jones, so I should kinda expect that. Apparently, he had done some window shopping yesterday as he was whiling away the time, waiting for me to finish my shift. He knew exactly which size to try on, and when he did, my train of thoughts was arrested. I was speechless for a moment. The fit was perfect, hugging him in the right places. And seeing him both delighted and good-looking with it, is unbeatable. This is definitely heaps better than my Special Seafood Fried Rice Extraordinaire.
We did a few more mad shopping, which hasn't happened for the longest time anyway. It felt fantastic to be able to get myself a pair of jeans that I couldn't wear to work and a belt to go with it that will require a few more sit-ups. We didn't eat out, because my chef at home is a lot better, and he doesn't charge me ridiculously. :)
There was much done, but I don't think we ran out of energy just as yet. Tyrone went out to do a bit of riding while the sun was still up. I had poured mine in getting the kitchen ready for my chef's use. In my new pants sans the belt, I arranged our grocery items and cleaned up sink, floor, ref and all. Just in case he'd catch me still undone, I made sure I was wearing the cologne he gave me last night which, apart from making J Lo richer, truly gives you the glow. Hehe. :)
Dinner was sumptuous, with luxurious flavours filling our palates. Potato salad with parsley and red capsicum, chilli prawns, stir-fried kangkong in soy, and lamb and oxtail curry. To accompany was a bottle of 2001 Old Vine Grenache, which seamlessly blended with the mood of the night.
So, that was a year, and what a year it truly has been. But looking back, I realise one can never cap it off with just fine gifts or big dinners. I guess, living it every day at one's best for another's is the best way to celebrate any relationship. Nothing beats that, and I hope I'm doing just that.
The Day Off
This is the day-off that will surpass any other day-off. Today, we will go out for our usual day-off duties, starting off with fish, meat and veggie marketing at Springvale and grocery replenishment. :) Laundry was finished off yesterday morning, so we could have the rest of the day to do other things. This, of course, will be my chance to return a gift to my Tyrone. Would you believe he had a most credible premonition that I would forget to come up with one? So yeah, he bought a gift for himself as well last night. Hmmm. As you may feel now, I have on my shoulders the burden of getting creative again.
I'll be back.
I'll be back.
Monday, 10 October 2005
MMM
Good morning, Mrs. Mudalige.
Was just my cellphone's alert when it receives my morning message from Tyrone, as a way of teasing myself. I even practised it in front of the mirror more than the number of bristles on my toothbrush. But on the day I finally acquired the title, it sounded like something new. Like a new-found specie of orchid or something, I was discovered anew and given a new name.
He first called me that on the night of the wedding. It felt dreamy to be with the man who shared his name and actually wake up beside him the following morning, instead of the usual drooling, hair-everywhere, faking-sleep-deprivation girl I used to share the bed with. (Sorry, Kim. Ikaw yun.) And every day since I had added a new monogram to my already mostly M-populated initials, it still feels new. I have since given up the phone alert-- and the phone, too-- because now I can hear it from the Mr. himself.
Was just my cellphone's alert when it receives my morning message from Tyrone, as a way of teasing myself. I even practised it in front of the mirror more than the number of bristles on my toothbrush. But on the day I finally acquired the title, it sounded like something new. Like a new-found specie of orchid or something, I was discovered anew and given a new name.
He first called me that on the night of the wedding. It felt dreamy to be with the man who shared his name and actually wake up beside him the following morning, instead of the usual drooling, hair-everywhere, faking-sleep-deprivation girl I used to share the bed with. (Sorry, Kim. Ikaw yun.) And every day since I had added a new monogram to my already mostly M-populated initials, it still feels new. I have since given up the phone alert-- and the phone, too-- because now I can hear it from the Mr. himself.
Sunday, 9 October 2005
Turning One
"I believe that food is one of the most important things in life. There is certainly no gesture you can show anyone of greater love than cooking them a good dinner."
-Tamasin Day-Lewis, English cook and food writer
It's Sunday. By now, you would be aware of my weekly dilemma.
Being more clueless makes me more guilty. I am actually thinking of using-- overusing, rather-- the excuse that our grocery supply is low, but as my husband says, creativity is indirectly proportional with the length of the grocery list. Hmmm. Honestly, my creativity with cooking is daunting, and that mathematical expression of his is just inapplicable to my misplaced culinary skills. The law of supply and demand comes closer, with creativity oftentimes even reduced to its square root.
I am just pathetic, and to rub salt to the wound, today marks our first wedding anniversary! I missed to pick up some meat from the butcher yesterday. It unforgivably slipped my mind they close shop early on Saturdays, and you'd hardly find any of them trading on Sundays. The thought of preparing from cans or instants is appalling, and I've been caught remorseful a few times for feeding my husband instant noodles. At one instance, Lashan even had to remind me what Gwyneth Paltrow once said: "I'd rather die than feed my family instant noodles." Susmaryosep. But thank to Lashan. While that's Gwyneth, somehow-- and really-- that helps me to re-do my thinking. Every wife should learn that.
Finally, my brainstorming became brain-draining, so I kind of gave up... thinking. This time, it just might work if I let my stomach do the thinking. I went to the kitchen and scoured for whatever could be found in the cupboards and refrigerator. Well, at least we have rice, and our freezer still had a lone occupant, which will definitely see the end of its solitude tonight. There was not much choice but to put the seafood mix into fried rice, so I felt this should at least be a fried rice extraordinaire. My stomach told me we can dub this as Special Seafood Fried Rice Extraordinaire. Hahaha!
Well, I had fun fixing that, adding flavours, colours and spices that I only learned to trust as I was trying to discover that lost creativity. Tyrone said it was a pretty good dinner, and I hope it wasn't just the wine that we drank with it that puts the 'good' in the compliment. He said it was actually okay, and if we wanted to top it, we will have to make up for it on our next day off. I was about to say that nothing beats this and now, when suddenly he hands me a gift. On second thought, yeah, I am most willing to wait for that day off.
-Tamasin Day-Lewis, English cook and food writer
It's Sunday. By now, you would be aware of my weekly dilemma.
Being more clueless makes me more guilty. I am actually thinking of using-- overusing, rather-- the excuse that our grocery supply is low, but as my husband says, creativity is indirectly proportional with the length of the grocery list. Hmmm. Honestly, my creativity with cooking is daunting, and that mathematical expression of his is just inapplicable to my misplaced culinary skills. The law of supply and demand comes closer, with creativity oftentimes even reduced to its square root.
I am just pathetic, and to rub salt to the wound, today marks our first wedding anniversary! I missed to pick up some meat from the butcher yesterday. It unforgivably slipped my mind they close shop early on Saturdays, and you'd hardly find any of them trading on Sundays. The thought of preparing from cans or instants is appalling, and I've been caught remorseful a few times for feeding my husband instant noodles. At one instance, Lashan even had to remind me what Gwyneth Paltrow once said: "I'd rather die than feed my family instant noodles." Susmaryosep. But thank to Lashan. While that's Gwyneth, somehow-- and really-- that helps me to re-do my thinking. Every wife should learn that.
Finally, my brainstorming became brain-draining, so I kind of gave up... thinking. This time, it just might work if I let my stomach do the thinking. I went to the kitchen and scoured for whatever could be found in the cupboards and refrigerator. Well, at least we have rice, and our freezer still had a lone occupant, which will definitely see the end of its solitude tonight. There was not much choice but to put the seafood mix into fried rice, so I felt this should at least be a fried rice extraordinaire. My stomach told me we can dub this as Special Seafood Fried Rice Extraordinaire. Hahaha!
Well, I had fun fixing that, adding flavours, colours and spices that I only learned to trust as I was trying to discover that lost creativity. Tyrone said it was a pretty good dinner, and I hope it wasn't just the wine that we drank with it that puts the 'good' in the compliment. He said it was actually okay, and if we wanted to top it, we will have to make up for it on our next day off. I was about to say that nothing beats this and now, when suddenly he hands me a gift. On second thought, yeah, I am most willing to wait for that day off.
Flying Carpet
This day in 2004...
He was nowhere to be found.
Mckoy searched in the house, in each bedroom and their toilet, in both upper and lower floors (including the basement where no one goes to), out the verandah, and the backdoor access from the kitchen upstairs. Musoi went around the house, hoping to find him in the garden or near the pond. I wanted to but couldn't afford to drop a sweat of worry in my pearl white frock. Thirty minutes before the wedding, my groom was missing.
Some were already cracking jokes just to calm me, but the suggestion of flying carpets this time was just not funny. (It took a while to convince my relations that my husband does not come from the same neighbourhood as Aladdin.) My grandma felt my anxiety and was trying to hush the jesterings. The smile they said brides effortlessly wear for hours seem to be escaping me by the millisecond, but I was comforting myself he could have only taken a moment for himself. I know he's not a religious man, but I don't mind that if, for that moment, he was. A brief prayer whispered, and finally, he appeared from upstairs. (To this day he denies of having gone to hiding. Whatever it was, I, too can't be bothered anymore.)
Dad approached us and reminded him that he still had half an hour to make up his mind. I was flabbergasted at the advice, but a second before deciding to stomp on Dad's foot, it occurred to me that these things do happen. Probably, I was just not prepared that it could happen to me. However, in my head ran months of preparation, sleepless nights, emotional rollercoasters, financial sacrifices, burnt telephone wires, faded keyboards etc etc. No! The show must go on!!
So, I pinched Tyrone's arm. That seem to have got the better of him, laughing with Dad. Then Dad added, "Don't worry about preparations being wasted, the guests and the food. After all, it's still my birthday."
Nice.
Tyrone gave a warm smile to me, and that assured me that my future was still in his embrace. After a long Clintonian double-palmed handshake, Dad gave me away to be Mrs. Mudalige.
He was nowhere to be found.
Mckoy searched in the house, in each bedroom and their toilet, in both upper and lower floors (including the basement where no one goes to), out the verandah, and the backdoor access from the kitchen upstairs. Musoi went around the house, hoping to find him in the garden or near the pond. I wanted to but couldn't afford to drop a sweat of worry in my pearl white frock. Thirty minutes before the wedding, my groom was missing.
Some were already cracking jokes just to calm me, but the suggestion of flying carpets this time was just not funny. (It took a while to convince my relations that my husband does not come from the same neighbourhood as Aladdin.) My grandma felt my anxiety and was trying to hush the jesterings. The smile they said brides effortlessly wear for hours seem to be escaping me by the millisecond, but I was comforting myself he could have only taken a moment for himself. I know he's not a religious man, but I don't mind that if, for that moment, he was. A brief prayer whispered, and finally, he appeared from upstairs. (To this day he denies of having gone to hiding. Whatever it was, I, too can't be bothered anymore.)
Dad approached us and reminded him that he still had half an hour to make up his mind. I was flabbergasted at the advice, but a second before deciding to stomp on Dad's foot, it occurred to me that these things do happen. Probably, I was just not prepared that it could happen to me. However, in my head ran months of preparation, sleepless nights, emotional rollercoasters, financial sacrifices, burnt telephone wires, faded keyboards etc etc. No! The show must go on!!
So, I pinched Tyrone's arm. That seem to have got the better of him, laughing with Dad. Then Dad added, "Don't worry about preparations being wasted, the guests and the food. After all, it's still my birthday."
Nice.
Tyrone gave a warm smile to me, and that assured me that my future was still in his embrace. After a long Clintonian double-palmed handshake, Dad gave me away to be Mrs. Mudalige.
Friday, 7 October 2005
Green Card
This time last year, our oldies (family elders, that is) constantly reminded me and Tyrone to limit-- if not avoid-- our outdoor activities lest we'd encounter some sort of mishap before our wedding. Superstitions or just mere precautions, we welcomed them anyway. It gave me the perfect reason to unwind and be free of the errands of the day.
So there I was between meditating and reminiscing in Dad's room while looking through old pictures of Mum, when I suddenly heard the motorcycle coughing from below my window. As I know, the only people who have a "green card" to drive it is Dad, my brother Koy, and our driver/houseboy/all-arounder Musoi. But Dad was at work, Koy in the city, and Musoi was mowing the lawn. Grrrrrrreat. That meant it could be my man.
For days since meeting the old pair of wheels, he had been full of anticipation in riding it "through dirt, sand, mud and grass". Well, the fumes of anticipation that it could be him escaped my ears, knowing there would be no one else anyway who had the courage to do
so-- that is, ride it without the permission from Dad. I looked out the window, and as if expecting I would be doing so, he smiled at me wider as he made the engine scream louder. He said he was going for a spin around the compound and down the dirt road leading to the river. I motioned for Musoi, who said that he didn't know how to not let Tyrone but had warned him to ask Dad first.
I was worried of inviting wrinkles again on my then supposedly relaxed skin if I started a discussion, so I thought it was best to stop him right on his tracks. However, before I could even dash downstairs, Tyrone had already sped off downhill... and I was instead Rapunzel left at the window watching her Prince gallop away. But like Jill "tumbling after" Jack, I did race downhill too and found him parked outside Dad's office. Hmm, he didn't think he'd get lucky, right?
Now, you see, getting the "green card" from Dad is no different from going through immigration itself, so if I were him it was better to abandon the idea. Dad was taking it really cool anyway and with a controlled laugh under his breath, calmly told Tyrone he can do all the mean riding after our wedding. Pleading only led him scratching his spotless head and finally yielded. We still had to take the motorcycle back home, and that meant riding it again. This time I thought I'd ride with him so he'd be slow and careful. What was I thinking? Of course he'd take advantage of that one chance. And so we raced through that short stretch from the feedplant to our house with a lot of swerving through the rougher edge of the dirt road. It was bloody wicked! Yeah, I was with Prince Charming, but I don't think any of those fairy tale princesses screamed like I did.
P.S. Tyrone got his green card after the wedding, but he was allowed to ride only within my visibility. Too bad, I'm nearsighted.
So there I was between meditating and reminiscing in Dad's room while looking through old pictures of Mum, when I suddenly heard the motorcycle coughing from below my window. As I know, the only people who have a "green card" to drive it is Dad, my brother Koy, and our driver/houseboy/all-arounder Musoi. But Dad was at work, Koy in the city, and Musoi was mowing the lawn. Grrrrrrreat. That meant it could be my man.
For days since meeting the old pair of wheels, he had been full of anticipation in riding it "through dirt, sand, mud and grass". Well, the fumes of anticipation that it could be him escaped my ears, knowing there would be no one else anyway who had the courage to do
so-- that is, ride it without the permission from Dad. I looked out the window, and as if expecting I would be doing so, he smiled at me wider as he made the engine scream louder. He said he was going for a spin around the compound and down the dirt road leading to the river. I motioned for Musoi, who said that he didn't know how to not let Tyrone but had warned him to ask Dad first.
I was worried of inviting wrinkles again on my then supposedly relaxed skin if I started a discussion, so I thought it was best to stop him right on his tracks. However, before I could even dash downstairs, Tyrone had already sped off downhill... and I was instead Rapunzel left at the window watching her Prince gallop away. But like Jill "tumbling after" Jack, I did race downhill too and found him parked outside Dad's office. Hmm, he didn't think he'd get lucky, right?
Now, you see, getting the "green card" from Dad is no different from going through immigration itself, so if I were him it was better to abandon the idea. Dad was taking it really cool anyway and with a controlled laugh under his breath, calmly told Tyrone he can do all the mean riding after our wedding. Pleading only led him scratching his spotless head and finally yielded. We still had to take the motorcycle back home, and that meant riding it again. This time I thought I'd ride with him so he'd be slow and careful. What was I thinking? Of course he'd take advantage of that one chance. And so we raced through that short stretch from the feedplant to our house with a lot of swerving through the rougher edge of the dirt road. It was bloody wicked! Yeah, I was with Prince Charming, but I don't think any of those fairy tale princesses screamed like I did.
P.S. Tyrone got his green card after the wedding, but he was allowed to ride only within my visibility. Too bad, I'm nearsighted.
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