Posts Tagged ‘shoes’

On Monday morning, while I was in my office with my trainee Asean Scholar going through some work, I reached out for my drinking cup for the first time during the day and found it missing.

Asean Scholar and I looked everywhere around my table but could not find it. The cover of my cup was still on my table, my teaspoon was still on my table but the cup was nowhere to be found.

How weird, said I. Just like how my stapler has gone missing after 10 years.


While we were all in The Buddha’s office to “take attendance” yesterday morning, he suddenly sniffed the air and announced that he smelt cat pee. Then he looked suspiciously at me.

Wait a minute, said I. I’ve been at work for an hour already and I don’t smell cat pee. I checked my shoes this morning and I didn’t step on grass! It’s not me!!

I didn’t say it was you, said he. I just said that I smelt cat pee.

The Buddha’s trainee, Champagne Truffle, stepped out of his room, sniffed and returned, confirming that there was a musky smell about.

Now that really set off my paranoia since cats marking in my shoes / clothes is something which has happened in the past before.

So I went back to my office, checked my shoes again, then sprayed myself liberally with linen spray for good measure.

But because my paranoia was triggered, I spent the rest of the morning asking people who dropped in on me whether or not they smelt cat pee on me.


Sometime during lunch, I went to the pantry and asked the Pantry Aunty whether she had seen my drinking cup.

She swore blue and black that she didn’t.

So I spent the rest of my lunch time wandering around to all of the places I could possibly happen by in the office with my drinking cup. My last stop was The Buddha’s room. When I entered his room, the smell of cat pee hit me in the face like a brick wall.

I stepped out, sniffed around, returned to my room, checked my shoes again, then sprayed myself with linen spray once more.


People drifted back into the office after lunch.

I still could not find my drinking cup anywhere and had taken to unscrewing the cover of my drinking bottle and swigging from it.

I was, by then, completely and utterly weird-ed out wondering about both the whereabouts of my drinking cup as well as the alleged smell of cat pee about.

Shortly after lunch, The Buddha swung by my room to get me for a meeting upstairs. He stood at my doorway and grinned at me cheekily. I doused myself with linen spray again and left with him.


After the meeting, I returned to my desk and there it was! My drinking cup! Right in the middle of my table and all scrubbed clean!

I looked at my girls. They looked back at me. Apparently the Pantry Aunty came by and dropped it off while I was in the meeting. Hmm.

I sat in my seat and eyeballed the cup suspiciously. Is it safe to drink from it?

Maybe you should rinse it out with Dettol, M2 suggested. Or Oral-B mouthwash, said M.

Or maybe you should just buy a new cup, said Asean Scholar.

I crossed myself, poured water into it, and drank out of it.


I promptly left work at 6pm (after spraying myself with linen spray and checking my shoes again) with School Marm to run some errands (during which I bought the most beautiful dress for Chinese New Year and hatched a ploy to convert my wedding cheongsam into something wearable for me in my current altered body shape).

When The Other Half got home, he inspected my shoes for me again to establish that the smell of cat pee was not coming from my shoes. Being the ever so dutiful husband, he even checked the compression stockings I had on.

I sprayed Febreeze into my shoes before I went to bed last night.


Leaving the house this morning, I checked my shoes again. It only smelt of Febreeze and old leather.

Then I wore a different pair to work, for good measure.


I am now sitting in my desk, drinking water out of my cup (still suspiciously), and I swear there is no smell of cat pee about.

But! My stapler is still missing (after 10 years), and I still can’t find Joie Chaton’s collar which has mysteriously disappeared 3 weeks ago.


See? The world is conspiring to turn me into a paranoid delusional.


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Why do Über rich people always get a kick out of telling others that they are “simple men” when they are very obviously far from simple? Why can’t they just come out and say I am damn rich and I enjoy eating caviar every day and spending oodles of money on stupid little things for kicks?

I tell people with no hesitation at all that I spend money on all kinds of frivolities [like cross-stitch sets I then never find the time to complete, limited editions of piano music I then never find the time to learn, knitting patterns and recipe books I never find the time to utilise, beautifully illustrated classical tales I never find the time to read and too heart pain to let my children destroy, just to name a few] and that I like to eat good food and am not discriminating about the venue or price and always wear expensive shoes. What’s the problem? I don’t for one moment believe that any of us are simple. Simple is the description of a mathematical problem consisting only of two single integers added together and makes less than ten. Or a one-hand melody consisting only of middle-C in semibreves [like the one I am teaching Peanut on the weekends].

Nothing is simple about any person or being a person. Liking a good bowl of plain porridge with soya sauce at a hawker stall does not make you a simple man. Even if it did and we accept that there is such a thing as a “simple man”, it does not make you a better person than most anyway. Consequently, it is of absolutely no relevance.

People should just embrace who they are in their lovely complicated identities [like bundled contradictions] and get a move on. Don’t kid yourself. Your “simplicity” is not impressing anyone here.

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For my education, said the good doctor

So I broke two of my toes last Monday going into work in the morning.

I actually made it into work after the incident, calmly set up my laptop and printed out two advices I had written over the weekend before I settled into my chair and wondered why my right foot still hurt like crap and how I could manage to hobble into Court in the morning for a matter. I took off my shoe and gingerly pressed on my toes. Something seemed loose and smarts like hell. Oops.

So I hopped on my good leg into The Buddha’s office and said I think I need to go off because I think I broke my toes so can you cover me in Court?

The Buddha looked at me and demanded to know the where and the how. Then he inspected my foot and ascertained that something was in fact loose. So he called our orthopaedic specialist and told him I was coming in for an emergency. You probably dislocated your toes. Go to [our orthopaedic specialist] and he’ll pop it back then you can come back to work.

[So calm right, the two know-it-all personal injury lawyers…]

So I hopped back into my office, called The Other Half to meet me at the hospital and my opponent in the morning to tell him I broke my toes so he has to either argue with himself or adjourn the matter. By this time, I could no longer fit my right foot back into my shoe so I hopped downstairs, got into a cab, called my mother [who was unbelievably mad at me for being the klutz that I am conveniently forgetting who gave me the genetically small feet which naturally predisposed me to klutziness to begin with] then hopped into the hospital.

The good doctor confirmed my suspicions, put me in an air cast and broke out a pair of crutches. Crap, said I. That means I can’t run for a while.

Run?! said he. You should be asking me when you can walk again!

Then he eye-balled me and said, How did you get to my office alone?!? Why didn’t The Buddha send you?!?!?!

By this time, The Other Half had arrived with alternative footwear for my good foot, looking rather harassed. The good doctor sent us on our way. On the way out of his office, I almost fell to my death on the crutches. Hold on to your wife! said he to The Other Half.

I managed to half hop half hobble to the car in the basement car park and The Other Half drove me back to my parents’ place, where I proceeded to show the kiddies my X-rays and caution them on the dangers of not looking where you step.

It’s been a week on and I feel like I should write down my story on a large-ish placard so that I can stop telling people the story when I run into them in Court, crutches and all. I have also gone from crutches, to one crutch, to no crutches at all, shuffling my air cast along on the floor. The bright side is that I get to legitimately wear my knee length socks for Autumn / Winter [as if that happens in Singapore] to improve the look of the air cast like so:

Fashion: A concept completely lost on the suits in Court

Except that I keep getting the question from the men, “So how long do you have to be in that cast and special socks?”

Oh well.

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He: When are you coming to Court?

Me: I can’t come to Court yet. My “driver” aka The Buddha hasn’t come to work yet.

He: That’s the most bourgeois excuse I’ve ever heard from anyone! But that’s okay. Let’s meet later on in the morning then.


He: [angrily] I waited for you till 11am!! You were not here so I mentioned and adjourned it!!!

She: I’m sorry. I walked through puddles to get to the train this morning. As such, I had to wait for my shoes to dry before I could come.

*stunned silence*

He: [resigned] It has been adjourned till February.

She: Thank you. For not killing me, for accepting my excuse, and for the long adjournment.

He: If it were someone else, I would have been taken aback. But with you, I’m not even surprised anymore.


It seems like the older I get, the more obnoxious I become.

And I’m really lucky to have people around who put up with me 🙂

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The kids and I have been down with a horrible flu bug most of this week which Peanut unfortunately brought back home from the day care. There’s much throwing up and diarrhoea and changing of bed sheets and nappies, and no sun for the last few days, resulting in a rather dire laundry situation, much to The Other Half’s chagrin.

Thankfully, the sun came out today and we all woke up feeling much better.

We have since put the soup stock for the steamboat tonight to simmer in the slow cooker, dropped by my office to distribute pineapple tarts and brownies [which were baked while I couldn’t taste anything at all] to my staff, then headed home and while The Other Half and the kids napped, I have tried to make some kulfi modified from a recipe here for dessert tonight while breaking in a new pair of heels I bought to match my Chinese New Year dress, still missing my tastebuds but much much improved from throwing up every 2.5 hours and being unable to eat anything at all. I have lost so much weight over the last 2 days that I have run out of holes in my belt today.

So while I scoot off to do my other Chinese New Year things, happy happy year of the Rabbit to all 🙂

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Today, while slipping on (with great difficulty given that I had to balance a rather large baby on my hip while trying to get buckles on) my black Camper maryjanes which I’ve had since before having Peanut (my currently only pair of functioning work shoes…can you imagine that?! Camper, beyond the prohibitive pricing and the initial discomfort, is the godsend of everlasting shoes), it dawned upon me that all of the heels which I wear to work have disintegrated to the point of no return in the 4 months or so of neglect.

I do most of my shopping online these days given that I can’t really leave the house with two small children to get any physical shopping done.

The problem with shoes is that you can’t really buy them online since you can’t really be sure that they fit right unless you put your foot in it, especially if you have the unfortunately fussy feet that I have.

Oh well. It’s time to work in a splash and dash at the shoe shops in my crazy schedule of Court and babies and packed lunches.

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