This morning I asked my mother to help me toast my chocolate bread, but then she said she was throwing the loaf away because it went bad. So I was like, "!!!" and defended my bread by saying it wasn't past it's best-by date yet, and I had just eaten it for supper last night.
She opened the bag and showed me little pieces of mould that had sprung up on the crusts. I gave my best impersonation of a sad little blue MSN emoticon and asked her if I would die or something, and she said without skipping a beat, "No, but in the long run maybe you will get cancer."

You see! I can't help it that I'm incapable of being nice and understanding.
This is what I'm used to!
My formulative years were spent getting stupid responses like this whenever I went in for a cuddle or a sayang!
I'm turning into my mother!
Arghhh!

The woman who drives the shuttle bus from my condo to the train station drives like she's on drugs. Which is to say, rather like a maniac. But she's nice and she'll get you to the church on time, so Audrey Hepburn'd probably like her, and if you get that then you have probably watched My Fair Lady as many times as me, and I like you already, just like how I liked that Bingo girl in MOS just because she had nice shoes, but I've Totally Digressed.
Anyway, she always turns left in a right turning only lane, and when she does so, I am pretty sure she spoils the morning of at least one motorist turning right from the opposite direction.
It's so important to not spoil someone else's morning. Mornings are crucial in shaping the rest of the day, are they not?
How many mornings have you spoilt huh? HUH?
2? 4? 43 million?
Governments should live by this rule. Spoil as few mornings as possible.
I wonder how many mornings George Bush has spoilt. Or Omar Al-Bashir. Or Slobodan Milosevic.
Or the auntie at the Kopitiam who always gets the kopi order wrong.
If I were to run for political office, my campaign slogan'd be, "Ruining 0 people's mornings since 1985!!" In italics, and underlined!
And, I'd start every speech with, "Friends, Romans, countrymen. Lend me your shoes!"
Then again if I were to run for political office, it would mean that the end of days would be nigh, and in that case it would matter very little that your mornings are unspoilt, since we'd all be looking judgement for our petty mortal crimes, and for all our irrational purchases spurred on by emotional or hormonal imbalances, dead in the eye.

There are 92 pairs of shoes outside my house. That's just by my front door. I didn't manage to count the ones inside the house. 3 belong to my dad. 4, maybe, to my ma. Maybe 20 to me.
My sister is damn cool.

I'm going to buy kopi. The auntie better not get it wrong!