you don’t need Gummi Berry Juice to bounce off the walls, no, no, no, all you need is 2 weeks at home with little more than an embroidery book (without needle and thread), a slow broadband connection and Martha Stewart.
o cystitis, how i despise thee.
i am just glad that’s now over and i can leave the house! paint the town red! horrify nice ladies at the cafés with fake cleavage! get fleeced at Deira Old Souq! anything! everything! yahoooo!
it isn’t as hot as it was last year, noooo, it’s only about 43°C, only yay lower *gestures hand* than last year’s blistering 48°C.
every ° makes a difference.
i am this close to carrying a box of dry ice connected to a rubber hose which will run into my skirt, so i can skip around town. but this, i suspect, would be worse than staying at home, watching Martha savour a grilled cheese with pulled beef short ribs sandwich and pickled red onions put together by the sinewy, olive arms of Govind Armstrong, when there’s nothing but whipped cream and butter in the fridge, and Ravi still at work so i have nobody to molest.
with my newly acquired freedom from the chains of cystitis, the possibilities seem endless! a stroll on Umm Suqeim beach, a walk around Deira to buy useless trinkets, a karaoke session, take in the wonderful world of organised food products at the supermarket, a session of people watching at a bar, or, or, or!
a large slice of stinkless mutton lasagna might help narrow the possibilities.