Dad, My Chauffeur

I have a habit of talking to plants. Perhaps it is my way of making up for the fact that I am so bad with plants. Even cactus dies in my hands. That’s why laogong calls me the brown finger as oppose to the green thumb.

I guess I’m only good with plants made of thread; who says these plants do not have a life of their own. 🙂

Anyway, I was on the way to the toilet in the office when I saw the plant, which is beside the toilet door, that I water every day. I continued my ritual of talking to it and asking it how its day was and weather it was enjoying the gloomy weather. I assumed it didn’t and the conversation went on and on until I tried to open the toilet door only to realise that there was someone inside.

I bet you knew where that story was headed.

Since the office is small, I knew who it was. Needless to say I could not avoid him and so I went about my day feeling dumb and embarrassed.

Oh well… it’s just one of those days. Anyone care to share their embarrassing moments so I won’t feel so bad?

Yesterday was mother’s day trinkets making session and today is father’s day trinkets making session. I manage to complete one but the iron gave up on me after lunch and I couldn’t continue the rest.

Dad's Chauffeur

Maybe in my case, dad’s the chauffeur. I remembered times when my sister and I were younger and we couldn’t  asleep. Dad would give us a car ride around the neighbourhood and carry us back to bed. We had this really cheap car that would break down every year on the way back to our hometown. Once, it poured so heavily and the roads were muddy and mom and dad both had to get out of the car to push it.

Stuff of what memories are made of.


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