| fly or die | |
| Friday, August 27, 2004 | |
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Heng,
Today, I watch you pack your years in this agency into 5 A4 Double A boxes. The naked lady hourglass I gave you two years ago for your birthday went into that one, the one with the dented corners. You put her away last. The last thing you took from you now empty desk. I will miss seeing her on top of your Mac. My muse, you used to say. And I'd say, I thought I was. To which, you never bothered to reply. Remember when we worked on Project KickAss - that was some thing! Sleep did not touch our eyes for 2 days. I was on a permanent caffeine high. But you, you were steady as always. Did you even yawn? But boy, did we cut it. On some quiet nights, I still hear the clients' applause after the presentation. That project sealed you and I as a team. Dizzy, trigger-mouth me and you, Mr. Talk To the Hand and the winner of stare downs anytime. Since the drama with Account Servicing, you have lost a bit of your intensity. You fight less. You let Account Servicing get away with blue murder. You go home early. You seem to want to care less but I see the struggle at the core of your being. Because Heng, you do care. You love your work, though one would never decipher it from your stone cold features and flat voice. But I know. I've watched you swell just so slightly, imperceptible to most, when we talk about your pet campaigns. I know that little upturn of your lips, when you hit the sweet spot, when you have nailed the strategy and locked horns with a winning concept. Though you don't say many words, Heng, I've read you. The outburst has left you - oh how I hate the word - disillusioned. It is certainly not the first nor only time you've had Account Servicing by the throat, but I guess it was the proverbial straw. Yet at the same time Heng, you've seen it all in the industry. How you have managed to keep your passion undefiled for so long is a lesson I need to learn. To keep giving your best even when everyone tells you that this low budget product of equally low-life client is a shitty job. 'Close one eye and get it over with' is the sad mantra of creatives. But not you, Heng. It kills you. I see life slowly ebbing from you. I hate to see you succumb to the system. I think you hate it more. Which is why today is what it is. You, go kick some serious ass in your new place. I will be watching you through the naked lady. Thank you, Heng, you've been the painting to my thousands of words. | |
| Thursday, August 26, 2004 | |
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Speedy Saturday Continued
... continued from here "I ticked 8 ye-es." She says as soon as she slid into my car. "Wow! That many? Did you pick Mr Eurasian?" I ask breathlessly. "Did ya? Did ya?" "Well, yes, he's quite charming. Well traveled. Well read. You know, that sort." "How's Blue?" "He's nice. Quite funny. A little shy." "Ooo ... you like them a little shy, don't you?" She laughs. I steal a glance at her - she is content, doodling with her index finger on the dashboard, a silly smile playing on her lips. "That good, eh?" I ask. She laughs again. "I dunno. I dunno. But outta all the guys I felt ... I felt ... comfortable with him. I mean, not that there were great sparks or anything but just ... comfortable, like an old T-shirt comfortable." "You mean the type you sleep in? Or use as floormat?" She bops my head. "God, I can't wait for the results," she bends over and buries her face in her hand, "this wait is gonna kill me." "You mean you didn't you get his number just now, you dork?" "Well, I was about to before you dragged me outta there." "Oops. Sorry." She bops my head again. I let her. I deserve it. We drive around silent for a while. I leave her alone with her reverie. Finally I reach her neat terrace house and she steps out of my car, "Hey, woman," I shout after her, "whatever the results, I'm so proud of you." She winks, "I am too." And disappears into her house a new person. | |
| Monday, August 23, 2004 | |
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Plastic Plastic
I open the papers and what do I see: Barbie and Ken breaking up! Can you believe that? This has to be the epitome of disposable relationships. Till death do us part is obsolete. Happily ever afters don't apply anymore. Nothing's sacred, not even in la la land. I shudder to think who's next. Mickey and Minnie? Donald and Daisy? Goofy and Pluto? Barbie dumps Ken of 43 years for this younger, edgy Aussie surfer dude named - get this - Blaine. What kind of lame ass name is that unless you're a magician sort who can survive in a block of ice suspended over Times Square? All said, I think it is marketing stroke of genius (albeit tacky and tasteless) to put Barbie back in the lime light, especially with competition from newer concept dolls like American Girl. Still, I hope Barbie will come to her senses. This Cameron-Justin thing just does not become her. | |
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Speedy Saturday
We arrive at the cafe. Candle light, soft music, lavender incense, booze. Storybook romance setting. Not surprisingly, I more jumpy than June the cool cat. June is dressed in this fitting dark blue spaghetti strap dress - lovely! June is one of the most excellent women I know - keen mind, sharp wit, earns oodles of money and makes a really mean lemak laksa. She's not bad in the looks department either- tanned skin, short curly hair and a cute upturned nose. I once tried to play the matchmaker between her and Tomas. I don't think she has forgiven me yet. There were already 7 women and 11 guys there. All heads turn to look as we step in. Everyone wants to check out the new meat. I clear my throat and announce, "Gentlemen, the love of your life has arrived. Now, bitches, get lost." Righty, no, I didn't but I was tempted. "Smile woman," I nudge her. "First impressions, remember!" "Stop it. You're making me nervous," she whispers. The other women have also dressed to kill. One was dressed in a tube - exposing her navel ring. Another in some glittery gown. Quite a few with peek-a-boo cleavages. Suddenly, I felt rather shabby in my drawstring pants and red Padini tee. I wouldn't have stood a chance against them. We quickly grab a drink and find a corner to survey the offerings. "Hmm ... cute," I signal with a quick dart of my eyes to one of the bachelors. He was talking to a balding, paunchy guy. Tall Eurasian, in black shirt and pants. What's he doing here? I wonder. Chicks would be all over him at a snap of his fingers, no? "Too pretty boy," she says. "Ooo ... you're hard to impress. What if I get him to take off his shirt? I think his chest hair is just bursting to come out and play." "Shut up, you! How about the guy in blue?" "Okay-lah. A bit short. Oops," I laugh, "no pun intended." "I shouldn't have checked you out of the institution," she sighs. At first glance, Mr Blue Shirt and a few others make the shortlist. We cross out Mr Crotch Scratcher for hygiene reasons, Mr Ogler who looked like a dingo frozen by the headlights of the lady talking to him and Mr Sloucher whose stomach led the way and had pants pulled up to his armpits. Cringe. Just then, the gong sounds and the meat market opens for business. We "friends" are ushered in to a "waiting area" while Cupid sharpens his arrow. Aim right, my friend. ... for Part 2, click here. | |
| Wednesday, August 18, 2004 | |
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Speed it up
"Please, please do me a favour," June starts as soon as I plunk myself on the chair at the mamak* stall. "What's up?" I ask. "Come with me next Saturday night to this ... er ... event." "What event?" "Well, I signed up for ...," she glances around and lowers her voice, "speed dating." My eyes widen. " "June! Wow! I never ..." "If you let Mila know, I'll rip out your uterus with my bare hands." "Calm down, calm down. Er ... but Matt ..." "You moron, you don't have to go through the dating. I just need you to accompany me. I dunno ... might just chicken out. This is the scariest shit I've done in a long time." "Yeah, worst than the bungee jump you did last year, right?" "So you coming or not?" "Yeah, won't miss it for the world." The idea of 15 men and women, meeting each other for the first time for 5 minutes, is intriguing. Well, okay, it is manufactured and it isn't exactly 'our eyes met across the room' but who's to say where and how Cupid chooses to strike? But then what can you say in 5 minutes? Or what can you surmise of the other person in 5? After all, when I first met Matt, I thought he was an utterly lost cause. I would have put a big X next to his name. Bye-bye. Ciao. Sayonara. Mainly, I'm glad to see June take a gutsy step and try to make it happen for herself. I mean, I have heard her complain about the dire lack of men for the last 3 years since her break-up, but this is the first time she's actually doing something to try to meet eligible men. Woo! If the roles were reversed, I don't think I would have been as brave. I hope she meets someone. I can't wait. *Indian Muslim roadside stall. Gosh, does anyone have a better description of a mamak stall? | |
| Monday, August 16, 2004 | |
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Fish!
We spend Saturday afternoon cleaning Minnie & Moe's fishtank. My guppies have made good on the world's oldest commandment 'Be fruitful and multiply'. I am a happy grandmother now. "Works great," Matt says as we stared at the tank. He has just installed a new 'get rid of goo' pump thingy in it. "Yeah, nice work," I say and gave him a hug. Did I mention that he always smells nice - like grass after rain - even after 3 hours of fish crap? Anyway, I began to put away the stuff - hoses, pails, etc when he started talking. "I was thinking ..." "What now? Whenever you think, you're up to no good," I tease, and pretended to look disgusted. I do a pretty good I'm-sick-of-you face. "Let's go for a holiday." "A what?" "You know ... stop work for a few days, visit foreign places ... you know, holiday, vacation, time off?" "I know what a holiday is," I say, "but why?" "I don't know," he replies sheepishly, "It'll be ... er ... nice?" "Let me think about it." As always, he doesn't hear me. "Bali? Air Asia goes there." "You cheapskate." "Maldives!" A lightbulb switches on in his mind and makes his eyes gleam, "8 days of bliss." He baits. "8 days? Billy will kill me." "Gee, it's been a long time since I last dived. You too." "Is this you or your mid-life crisis speaking?" "How about it? It'll be fun." "No, not Maldives. It's too far to get home when I'm sick of you." "I promise ... you'll have the time of your life." "Hmm ... that sounds like a threat." "C'mon, I'll be nice." "Hey, shall we get June, Mila and her boyfriend to go too? No?" He looks at me with disdain, "Hey, lets bring the next door Uncle, wife and kids too." "Okay, okay. Not a great idea. But let's see if Billy kills me first," I said. We finally settled on Pulau Redang. Yeah, I know it is a far cry from the Maldives. But gotta support the Cuti-Cuti Malaysia campaign. And it will probably only happen, if it does at all, after the biggie project I'm working on now with Tomas and gang. Nonetheless, the thought of being with him 24/7 for 5 days is scary. Strangely, the proverb "Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea" springs to mind. I might discover too much about him way too soon and vice versa. Am I ready for so much reality? He might not smell so good anymore. | |
| Thursday, August 12, 2004 | |
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The woman mews
"So, did you like it?" Matt asked as we filed out of the cinema. "So-so," I said. We caught Catwoman yesterday on cheap tickets night. "You?" No reply. I eyed him, he looked kinda dazed. Probably still rerunning scenes in his mind of the Berrylicious Halle. Granted Halle Berry is gorgeous. She and yummy muffin cake Benjamin Bratt are the only thing that saved the show. Halle is a stunner in her tight leather suit with well placed scratched away strips. Her feline sleek curves are to die for. (Dang! I gotta head to the gym more now.) She mimics a cat's moves pretty well, complete with cool, cat swagger on tiny stiletto boots. Heck, in some scenes, you could actually believe her. Story wise, it's a lame pussy. Mousy Patience Philips gets pushed around. She dies. She gets a blast of cat breath. She goes after people who did her in with new fandangled costume and killer nails. I know the action hero story ain't supposed to be rocket science but I can't help comparing it to Spiderman 1 & 2 which kept me cheering for geeky Peter Parker long after the credits rolled. Some thing lacked in Catwoman - or I'm just not a cat person. I nudged Matt, "So what did you think?" "Oh!" he roused from his reverie, "Good! She's good." I can't say the same for Matty boy though. Grrr... | |
| Wednesday, August 11, 2004 | |
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Dream kicker
Another one joins the reality show bandwagon. Nescafe Kick Start - a new show that helps 18 - 25 year olds achieve their dreams. The booty is RM30,000 if you make the Final 4 and the Grand Prize winner takes home RM150,000 to Kick Start his or her ambition. 
For the sake of entertainment, the career path chosen is not your run-of-the-mill paper shuffling vocation. "Be creative, don't go for the usual 9 to 5 jobs" is a loud enough hint that if you want to be an accountant - you won't make it to the show. Sorry, accountants. Be an astronaut. Be a film director. Be flea trainer. Be a priest. (Wait, you don't need 150 grand for this) Inside sources tell me that the Nescafe Kick Start is "inspired" by a similar thingamajig Down Under. The Nescafe Big Break has been around since 1990 and has awarded more than 250 young guns a caffeine shot to the arm to make their dreams come true. Recent winners include Katherine Prumm who dreams of being a Motorcross rider, Vaugn Cooper and Blazej Kot who came up with an "EcoPlug" standby powersaver, Brent Hall who invented a "Bush Rat" macadamia nut harvester, Paul Pingiaro who wants to operate a "TrackAir" adventure tour, amongst others. Malaysians, please take the cue. I'm not sure how the show will pan out but I'm curious. It is a welcome change from the please-vote-me-i-beg-you-singer-actor reality show. And possibly a lot more pizzazz than the Fair & Lovely Win a Bridal House show. But we'll see. *Sigh* Stuff like this makes me wish I'm still under 25. My dream is to broadcast my own travel show. I'll sail around in this yacht from port to port - documenting stories, meeting the locals and digging up secrets. Woo. OMG, my cubicle suddenly looks like prison. So, if you're still eligible, make a run for it. You might just get your 10 minutes claim to fame and oodles of money to wave at old foggies like me passed the expiration date. Dang those Rules and Regulations. To enter, visit www.kickstart.com.my (I tried to log on earlier but don't seem able to. Too much traffic? Hope you have better luck.)  2001 Big Break winner Josh Pell who won for his concept of a carbon fibre racing bike that'll leave the competition in a cloud of dust. He won AUD$20,000 to produce a prototype and set up the business.
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| Tuesday, August 10, 2004 | |
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The stars align
Tomas and his Art Director, Zul, Jenna and I, along with Big Billy are in this big-big hush-hush meeting. Donna is there too. With Rahman, her Group Account Director. "What's the fuss?" I whisper to Tomas. "New business," he whispers back. True enough, Rahman announces the new client on our roster - a regional alignment thingy. That basically means a brand moves from one agency to another globally (or whatever region the alignment covers). Due to some string pulling, pitching and bitching on the international front, we get a new client. And another agency loses it, even if they have been slogging their pitiful butts out for that client, turning in great ads, and making the sales chart skyrocket. It is no fault of theirs. And no merit of ours. That's how cruel advertising can be. "Massive, massive account," Rahman continues. Rahman is a typical kiss-ass-cover-backside suit. Strategically sloppy but great with the clients. He's tongue is oiled, as they say. I don't have good vibes about him. "Yeah, we'll have 2 teams on it. In the long run, we might get dedicated teams ... but let us see how this pans out first. Gauge the workload and shit," Billy says. I glance at Tomas and think, I guess we're on. And I feel my heart lift. Whoop! Tomas and Zul are the top nutters in the agency. They're great at their work. And though I've never worked with them on a project, I love these fellas. They don't just shoot the breeze, they do the work. And they do it brilliantly. I will learn much from the Jedi Masters. More so now that I'm having such problems with Jenna, it will be a welcome diversion. And perhaps, just perhaps, Zul can help Jenna come down to earth. Rahman continues downloading the brand strategy, positioning and stuff but I don't quite hear him. I'm happy and thinking happy thoughts. This is a big break for me. And the first time in a long while, there is a reason to come to work every morning. I could fly. I smile gleefully as we file out of the meeting room, and link my arm with Tomas'. "My god," Tomas hollers, "Billy, do I have to work in such close proximity to this woman?!" "Tomas," Billy yells back, "this is as lucky as you'll ever get." We laugh, and if I hear right, he mutters under his breath, "Yeah." | |
| Friday, August 06, 2004 | |
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Kancil Ads
The recent naked sex romp has garnered our local love bug its best PR blitz in years. If I'm the Brand Manager of Perodua I would have immediately taken out full page ads on its shag appeal. That's either top notch strategy or just my perverse sense of humour. Anyhoo, I did some ads for the fun of it. Enjoy! And lemme know what you think. And my 2 favourites. Seriously the campaign would have worked better on a Kelisa - which has the spot-on tagline "Engineered for fun". Woo. The campaign would have rocked. I did think of changing the Kancil tagline to "Lucky like you" or "Sexy like you" but then I thought, you can't fiddle with a client's "positioning" like it's Kamasutra - you just have to work with the material you have and make the best out of it. Disclaimer: The above campaign is done in jest and not commissioned by Perodua or any of its agencies. Specifications may change without prior notice. Wink. | |
| Thursday, August 05, 2004 | |
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Meet the Parents, Part IV
"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Matt asked. We were in his car, parked outside my apartment. It was dark and quiet, so quiet the ringing stung our ears. He puts on his Coldplay CD. "Nah, wasn't bad at all. Your parents are cool. I like Marie. She's funny." "I think they like you too." I smile. "You think so?" "Yeh, baby." "You're gonna end up like your Dad. Talking and talking and talking about himself. I already see signs of it." "That's because he's so in love with Mom. Even after all these years." I smile and remember the strained looks on Mrs Wong. I feel bad for feeling any less about their relationship. I hope it's the shopping that got her weary. "You think we'll be like that?" he asks, pondering. "With your yakkity yak mouth," I do a duck quaking motion with my hands, "I would have gone cuckoo. Or deaf." "I do love you, you know?" he says, turns to look at me in the darkness. I don't quite see his eyes but I sense them. "Really?" I reply with a snigger, "Could have fooled me?" Then I turned to him and with the seriousness of a pitbull asked the million dollar question all women will ask their boyfriends, husbands or lovers one time or another, "Why?" "Why? You don't believe ar?" he replies, imitating the Ah Beng guy in the BCB advertisement. I keep quiet, waiting and staring at him through the darkness. "Well, you're amazing," he finally mutters. "Yeah, like how?" I grill. I know this sounds pathetic but I'm gunning for specifics. "Well, you are smart. Oh yeah, beautiful," he adds condescendingly, "You make me laugh. At myself, mainly." "And?" I probe, with the tenacity of an investigative journalist. "And ... and you ... you complete me." "Aargh!" I shriek. "And you make me want to be a better man." "Aargh!" I shriek again. We end up exchanging corny lines from romance comedies. And laughing till late. And I guess that's why he loves me. | |
| Wednesday, August 04, 2004 | |
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Meet the Parents, Part III
We arrive at the restaurant around 7pm. I catch a glimpse of myself at the glass door, I look very different from 4 years ago. I'm smarter too. This time, I wear a dress. Heels. Make-up and perfume. My hair has grown to shoulder length and I've just had it layered. And they are all black. *sigh* My rebel days are truly gone. What is there to not like? I thought. Matt takes my hand leads me into the restaurant. I feel self-conscious, I feel stares jab at me, as if every patron is looking at me. I struggle to keep my chin up and I scan the room quickly for the target. Must be this table? No. This one? No. That one? No. Then, there they are. Matt's dad, mom and 3rd sister. Matt hugs his sis and slaps his dad on the back. He sits me next to his sister and he next to his dad. He introduces me. I smile, but I think my lips trembled. And my ears went hot. Marie, his sister, starts, "So, you work in advertising ah?" "Yeah," I nodded. Marie is 2 years older than Matt, unmarried. Living in Ipoh, managing a small business. She has nice teeth too. And his kinda lips, curvy. But unlike Matt, she is, well, large. And she has his mother's eyes - dark, large and deep set. (Shucks! If only he got them.) Marie could look stunning, but she obviously never bothered. "Wah, very glamour hoh?" "No lah, not really. Just a lot of hard work," I said and sipped the hot chinese tea to calm myself. Then Matt complains about my long hours, how he never gets to see me and tells them all the latest ads I've done. They nod politely as if they know, though I know they haven't seen them. His mom, Mrs Wong, is petite. And, a beauty in her hey days. Her grace was not inherited by Marie. Or Matt. From her eyes and the way they linger over Matt, tracing every curve of his face, I know she loves her only son to death. "You've put on a little," she says to Matt, "Look much better." "Of course lah, finally, got woman want him. Happy, sure get fat wan," Marie interrupts. I laugh. I like Marie. Mr Wong adds, "You better take good care of her, you know. Pretty girl like her, sure got a lot of guys after, you know?" Matt takes after his Dad - his height, lanky frame, thick head of hair that curls at the ends except that Mr Wong is greying. He has bi-focals, which he keeps in his right short-sleeve shirt pocket and takes it out when he wants to read the menu. "Yeah, yeah. Just like how you took care of Ma," Matt grins and winks at Mommy. She smiles and looks at me. I lower my eyes. She must think I'm so fortunate to have her son. "Your Ma had 4 men, no, 5 fellas, after her at that time," Mr Wong launches into his great love story. Mrs Wong nudges him to shut up, but to no avail. She quietly shakes her head. Matt and Marie, having heard it all their lives started their own stories, at the side. But I was fascinated. Mr Wong knows how to spin a yarn - the details, the colour, right pauses, the drama. A storyteller, which was probably why she fell for him. But the tales have gotten tired and I could see that she wasn't as charmed as before. She still smiled at all the right places but it was a reflex, no longer genuine delight. That marred the tale a little for me. I would have wanted to see them still madly in love. But maybe that only happens in paperback novels. Here I saw, respect and a load of tolerance. "Enough, Pa, can we eat?" Matt says when the food arrives, "I'm gonna lose weight if I wait anymore." He digs in. Then continues, "Ma, I don't get it, we're all so thin, but Marie - what happened ar?" "Yeah lah, yeah lah she pick me from the rubbish bin," Marie interjects. "Must have been a very, very big bin," he laughed. "You satay stick, eat-lah," she bops him on the head. I could hardly recognise Matt. He was beaming, chatting excitedly, joking, being silly, interjecting his father's remarks in Hakka. He transformed before his family. He became Ah-Boy. | |
| Tuesday, August 03, 2004 | |
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Meet the Parents, Part II
Don't get me wrong, I do want to meet his parents. I'm just petrified. Meeting them for the first time is like getting an examination - they'll prod, probe, review my history and family chart before they decide whether I deserve their darling son. And Matt is the only son, after 3 sisters. He's Mommy's boy, Daddy's treasure. The one to carry on the family name. And did I mention that I'm not particularly charming when it comes to older folks? I just don't seem to be able to connect beyond the "hello-aunty-uncle" phase. But if truth be told, this little episode brings back memories of the other Meet the Parents (MTP) Exam I had, 4 years ago - Bryan's. Yeah, he's the guy who hit my car with his tennis racket. Bryan was a bit of a rogue, the bad boy type. He was irresistable. When it was good with Bryan, it was dang good. He could make me laugh like no one did. He knew all the right buttons and he knew when to push them. And, Bryan ... Bryan was gorgeous. It was like a dream. Me, plain 'lil me, with this demi-god who flew on powerbikes. Till he took me on his bike home to Penang for "just a weekend". Back then, my hair was cropped short, with a streak of blonde. Waif-skinny. Didn't own a single skirt. Didn't have a job. And I didn't speak a word of Hokkien. I still remember the way his mom's jaws dropped slightly when she saw me. And that furious look of disdain and disappointment that blazed in her eyes. The moment I stepped in, his mom and aunties picked me to death, like how stronger guppies attack a deformed member till it dies. After the weekend in Penang, I was broken. And so they say sticks and stones may break my bones but words won't? Oh, Bryan tried. Tried to kissed away the pain, stem the bleeding on the insides. But it was too late. The words like rusty nails have been hammered in. And have started to spread its poison. Our relationship crumbled eventually. The MTP Exam wasn't the thing that ended it. His Achilles heel was his temper. Though I do think the poison did spread to him, cause he slowly believed that I wasn't good enough for him. Perhaps I did too. I know it is unfair to think that Matt's parents would be the same. But still the old demons taunt. And I'm afraid of being nailed. Again. | |
| Monday, August 02, 2004 | |
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Meet the Parents, Part 1
"Hey, guess what?" Matt asked, more bubbly than usual. "What?" I asked as I stretched on the sofa. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon - the type where you don't want to do anything except get a back rub. Matt was sitting crossed legged on the floor, leaning against the sofa. "Dad and Mom are coming up ... for the Mega Sale thing." "Why? Ipoh no sale meh?" I said, my mean streak rising. I pretended to sleep cause I didn't like where this conversation was going. "They want to meet you." I snored. "Hey, Ms Piggy. You hear me?" I rubbed my eyes, suddenly very awake and stupefied. This throws a different light onto our rather private relationship. I thought it was just between him, me and the half-a-million people who read this blog. (Kidding!) "Let's take them out for dinner tomorrow." "You could have given me more notice, y'know," I said sullenly, like how a child is when rudely awakened. "What? And get you all freaked out? Don't worry. My parents are ... well ... nice. You know, typical Ipoh folks." But why? Why am I meeting your parents? I thought quietly to myself. I haven't told my parents about you. I mean, must I? And what did you tell them anyway? "What?" he asked, puzzled at my fascination for the patch of ceiling above me. "Matt, I ... I don't think I'm ready." "Ready for what? It's just a dinner." "Matt, parents are not like that. If I brought you home to my folks, they will be whipping out the calendar, picking dates, ordering crates of XO and making a guestlist already." "My folks are cool. Trust me." "I have a bad feeling about this." "Don't be paranoid. They'll love you. As I do." He kisses my hand, on the knuckle of my middle finger. I smiled woefully. And agreed to dinner. My fingers crossed. | |
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