chi.mer.i.cal | 1. created by or as if by a wildly fanciful imagination; highly improbable
2. given to unrealistic fantasies; fanciful
cog.i.ta.tions |
1. thoughtful considerations; meditations
2. serious thoughts, carefully considered reflections
my wife and i went to a new japanese restaurant in marina square for lunch with my family yesterday. while waiting for the food to arrive, my mum was staring fixatedly at a group of waiters, who, in typical singapore-waiter fashion, were standing round in a cluster holding an animated discussion amongst themselves. and pointedly ignoring all the customers who were trying to get more green tea.
after some time, my mum made an observation, in a conversational tone. which, by her standards, is akin to a normal person speaking into a loudhailer. with the amplifier dailed up to the maximum. in a confined, and otherwise utterly silent room.
(they were all wearing a strange black and white shirt/trousers/apron combination, to be fair)
my sister exclaimed, mortified.
bellowed my mum, very perplexed. and loudhailer assisted, again. i doubt, of course, the waiters were very amused.
then the look of perturbment on my sister's face gradually faded, replaced with something vaguely akin to a vapid grin. she proceeded to narrate the story of how she had a dream the previous night, where we were all penguins. penguins too, were my two cousins (twin baby boys, the loves of her life and the reasons for the slack-jawed look of contentment). she went on to outline, with relish, how my two cousins kept swimming away into the depths of the ocean. and how she had to keep swimming after them.
only my sister could tell such a story with such proprietary pride. or respond with such indignance (and fluency) when i observed that i didn't think she'd make a very good penguin. rounding off her tirade with the proclamation that she would make an infinitely better penguin than me. no arguments there.
unimpressed by our insights on life (and no doubt wondering what she had married into), my wife ran off to topshop to start spending her performance bonus in anticipation of actually receiving it.
she declared, already halfway out of her chair.
one final observation. mondays suck.
after some time, my mum made an observation, in a conversational tone. which, by her standards, is akin to a normal person speaking into a loudhailer. with the amplifier dailed up to the maximum. in a confined, and otherwise utterly silent room.
"don't all the waiters look like penguins?"
(they were all wearing a strange black and white shirt/trousers/apron combination, to be fair)
"not so loud!"
my sister exclaimed, mortified.
"but what's wrong with looking like a penguin? penguins are cute what."
bellowed my mum, very perplexed. and loudhailer assisted, again. i doubt, of course, the waiters were very amused.
then the look of perturbment on my sister's face gradually faded, replaced with something vaguely akin to a vapid grin. she proceeded to narrate the story of how she had a dream the previous night, where we were all penguins. penguins too, were my two cousins (twin baby boys, the loves of her life and the reasons for the slack-jawed look of contentment). she went on to outline, with relish, how my two cousins kept swimming away into the depths of the ocean. and how she had to keep swimming after them.
only my sister could tell such a story with such proprietary pride. or respond with such indignance (and fluency) when i observed that i didn't think she'd make a very good penguin. rounding off her tirade with the proclamation that she would make an infinitely better penguin than me. no arguments there.
unimpressed by our insights on life (and no doubt wondering what she had married into), my wife ran off to topshop to start spending her performance bonus in anticipation of actually receiving it.
"just for two minutes!"
she declared, already halfway out of her chair.
one final observation. mondays suck.
Go on. Make fun of me...