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love bites

love bites

A beautiful disaster

worst day of my life

It’s the dichotomies in life that make it exciting. I suppose life would be awfully boring if everything went smoothly all the time and it’s the stench of poop that makes roses smell sweeter. So here’s the story of how we got a nice, giant whiff of crap yesterday.

It was meant to be a delayed birthday celebration and we had made plans to take a day off without the kid. To recapture the old days, as it were. The plan was to leave Tru at my mom’s place (grandmas are lifesavers) and head out for a show, a nice dinner and maybe a relaxing walk.

The day started pretty good. For lack of a better option, we ended up watching Star Trek, a total geeky, fanboy kinda show. 10 minutes in, I was totally lost as they went on and on about the transponders and other whatnot gizmos, so I spent the next 2 hours ogling at Chris Pine.

It looked set to be another usual, humdrum outing as we headed back to the car. That’s when the fun started. To our horror, we realized that we had lost the car key, and it was the last set we had. It’s one of those moments where time slows to a halt and a string of expletives made its way to the top of my mind as the gravity of the situation sank in. It could have been lost anywhere along Orchard Road and it’s practically worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.

I decided to sit my pregnant ass down like a vagrant by the side of the road while the husband sprinted down Orchard Road looking for the lost key. I was so depressed that I thought of whipping out my trusty little tin can to make some spare cash while waiting, but even the can was in the car and all I had was my mobile phone. Bummer.

After spending 20 mins checking all the possible places, the key was still nowhere to be found, and our last hope was the cinema, which was screening another show till 11.05 pm. With 90 mins to burn and all the shops closed, we were all dejected as we trudged down to Mackers for a mango smoothie. You know how they say music is food for the soul? Of all the songs in the world, they had to play Ironic by Alanis Morisette to capture the plight that we were in. So there we were, feeling sorry for ourselves and wandering aimlessly like a bunch of delinquents.

Long story short, the cinema managed to retrieve the key and we almost hugged the nice lady at the ticket booth (whose name was Jelly, I’m serious). I’ve never been this happy to see a car key. Mraz has a classic line that says “it takes a loss before you found it”.

The relief at finding something you almost gave up all hope on is a huge rush. It was 11.15 and we had missed our dinner but hey, we did get our walk, (just like the old days) multiple times up and down Orchard Road peering at people’s feet.

And that kinda makes today seem extra nice and beautiful.

love bites

Love Actually

I’m celebrating my 2nd wedding anniversary today.

When I first got married, plenty of well-meaning folks (the kind you’d like to stab in the eye with a fork) told me that the honeymoon period lasts for 2 years and then its mostly just getting through each day without wanting to stab each other’s eye with a fork. And they back it up with all kinds of impressive statistics to sound like they’re some kind of authority on the subject.

Oh, and guess what the 2nd anniversary is called. We all know that 50th is Gold, and 60th is Diamond (I like!), but few would know that the 2nd is COTTON. Wow, way to go, I can’t think of a more worthless material. It’s what I use to wipe my kid’s arse. Whoever came up with the names obviously didn’t think much of the 2nd anniversary.

Here’s the thing. When you’re googly-eyed newlyweds, you gaze into each other’s eyes and whisper saccharine sweet nothings all day. And you pooh-pooh the idea that your marriage will be one of the casualties.

But as we neared the big 2-year mark, I realized it’s about the time it takes for the gazing and whispering to get old. There’s only so much mush you can concoct and romance is almost like a reflex action sometimes.

Which got me thinking.

Given that the odds are against us, how do some marriages stay together while others fall apart? Is it really just the luck of the draw or is there something we’re missing here?

And after many days of mulling, I still didn’t have the slightest clue. I was determined to come up with a grand plan to bring back the fireworks. to spice up the marriage and spread some good juju around. You know, to ward off the malevolent eye-stabbing powers. But let me just state that fireworks are a real pain to set off and clean up. And even that starts to wane after a while.

Then one evening as we were going about our usual activities, surfing the net and engaging in one of our usual banal conversations, it occurred to me that this is exactly what makes us tick.

That we can talk for hours about the most insipid topics and enjoy the conversation.

That we can sit in silence and still enjoy the conversation.

That after Manchester United kicks Arsenal’s 4th-place bottom, we can still have a civil chat.

That after I’ve gained 50 pounds, he still looks at me like I’m smokin’ hot.

That when I wake up in the morning, I know that he’s my best friend in the whole, wide world.

So, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY.