Having wrapped about 500 pieces of wedding cake this week, I don’t want to see wedding cake ever again. It’s a waste of time and effort and is ridiculously expensive to make.
My dad’s Sinhala is, to put it as diplomatically as possible, quite crap. I shudder to think of the blunders he makes in public when we’re not around to save him.On our way to dinner a few nights ago, we were stopped at a check point. The army personnel on duty examined my dad’s ID and peered behind.‘Who’s in the back seat sir?’ he asked.
‘My wife and my rabbits’ my dad proudly announces in Sinhala.
While window shopping with my sister, she looks at me and tells me that I’m far too hunched.
‘I know’, I reply.
‘Straighten up’ she says, rapping my back. ‘Your boobs must say hello to the world.’
I just stare at her.
The work on the art front is not going well. The sketches look stilted and the paintings are garish and pretentious. Any remnants of my style has changed drastically and I’m fervently hoping that I’ll pick up and maybe get better with a lot more practice.
I went and did something very stupid. In an effort to revamp myself, I went and had my fringe relaxed/rebonded (I don’t know what exactly it is) only to end up with a sad, sorry looking tuft of coconut husk like thing on my head because the ditz of a hairdresser left the lotion on for too long. I got my hair cut a few days ago from a different person and got a beautiful dressing down from her for, to use her exact words, damaging my ‘virgin hair.’Now I just feel violated.