less femmes en travail ici are fucking unbearable.
forming their stupid lunch-time clique; with their silly hubby-bubby concerns, housemaking, preening in their self-satisifed aunty status and gossip about new chappals, jewellery, bedsheets and nightime teehees. i could never laugh at their apalling jokes, some shit-panelled teasing that made no fucking sense. i could play along only once and then it had to drop. lunch with them? hell no. now i stand at the manipal deli, somersaulting and delighting with my (flicked) castanedas and new scientist. this has to qualify as bliss. aaaaaaah.