Tighty-Whities

For some strange, unknown reason, the words "tighty-whities" kept recurring in my head for the past few days. Maybe it's got to do with my obsession with getting Chye a pair of CKs.

In any case: while Ching, my sis and I were waiting to board the bus to get to Zouk's Flea & Easy, I overheard this Jap boy on the line with his friend, and I could swear I heard him go "tighty-whities"! And he repeated it a couple of times for his friend who apparently needs a good ear candling session. Bizarre (or maybe I'm the one truly in need of the therapy).

After that the word stopped appearing in my head. Told JW and Eugene and they had a good laugh over my (supposed) delusion.

While we're on that topic, they even sold underwear at the flea market, no kidding. A box of women's underwear, those stripey cheapo ones that are cut high up your thigh were going for a buck each. Not a lot of people saw them though, I'd expect, because it was so so crowded (unlike Zouk on a Friday night, erhem) and especially because the box was placed, in a bad-marketing decision, on the floor at the front of their table.

I bought so many things. A bag at the aforementioned stall, a Topman tee for Chye, an Adidas tee I have no idea what to do with, a Golden Breed tank (in yellow), a funky looking top with organza and what-not, a pair of black, patterned stockings, and this:


my best buy of the day! A mossimo dress, at a steal for but $8. Yep, I think that's about it. Set me back a good $70+ but oh well, everything was going for a song. Even Ching, who's usually tight-fisted about her purse strings, spent a good 40-odd dollars. My sister rung up the registers to the tune of erm, also $70+ (but managing to clinch the Top Spender of the Day award).

On another note: Had a weird dream last night/this morning. I dreamt some woman was chasing me up the stairs, I think to kill me or inflict some such other pain/torture on me. Now in these dreams, I somehow always manage to run out of steam really really quickly, way before my pursuer does, to the point that I feel like I'm in that Gatorade advert where that swimmer is erm, swimming in a pool of lead, only I feel that my legs are lead. At this juncture I get really panicky for my life, not knowing I'm really in a dream, silly me, that's the only reason why I can run in that manner and seem to hover for a good 5 seconds in the air before landing 2cm from the spot I was before that - and so I run out of the stairwell, out into the carpark of the shopping centre. Looking for a way out, my brain attempts that deus ex machina trick and a Rastafarian-looking guy materialises out of nowhere and I run with what's left of me to hide behind him, safe and away from that women hell-bent on hurting me.

Then she comes and tells me I'd dropped my wallet.