I behaved like a princess this morning in the taxi on the way to work, asking the driver to turn up the aircon as I fluttered a hand in front of my face to indicate how damn uncomfortable it can be being driven to work in the tropics some mornings. I was even wearing a white linen shirt.
I didn’t really start thinking about perhaps why I’m feeling the heat a bit more until another S (yes, thanks a lot) asked me about weight gain so far. I hadn’t really been paying too much attention, except to worry early on that I wasn’t eating enough, though lately I have occasionally thought that maybe a singlet and a few pairs of knickers had been washed in too-hot water.
Then I started thinking about well, dinner last night: pizza (which I oddly only want to eat when the male S is away), lemonade and a Mars bar. A few weeks ago it would have been a hearty barley hotpot, a few glasses of water then a few delicate squares of good dark chocolate. Then I started thinking about how the past week all I’ve been looking forward to eating has been either ice cream, chocolate or a pastry from the hotel opposite the office… The apples have been staying in my survival pack and today my lentil soup sat on the desk all day while I just had the two pieces of left over pizza from last night (at least I didn’t eat it all in one sitting).
Thank goodness we’re going back to Australia in a few weeks where it’s cold and I can stop thinking!
PS If you get too fat can you still feel the baby kick? And can the baby still hear you practising names on it to see if kicks?
You don’t feed the fish. You eat pizza… and by the way you eat chocolate by the block not the piece…
I was in a minibus yesterday — crammed to exploding point — even the Vietnamese thought it was crowded. The woman on my left leg vomitted most of the way (thankfully into little plastic baggies that she tidily tied up and then threw out the window), while the fella on my right leg smoked “extract of long dead rabbit” most of the way. Of course all the windows were closed as it was heaving with rain… oh and the trip took about three hours — I could paint you a picture of the stench when I climbed out.
Anyway, to the point of this story — when the driver was trying to marry me off to one of the single women crammed in the van (i’m not sure which one as I couldn’t twist my head that far) I explained politely that thanks but no thanks — I’m married — where was my wife I was asked straight away.
When I explained that she was at home working while I was on holiday there was an eruption of tut tut tuts, and an old woman waggled her finger at me and said in near perfect English:
“You very bad man”
I wish they’d thrown me out of their damn minibus…
Its amazing that an old woman know you so well!!!
Sorry S I should say…eat what you feel like. It is really the only time in your life you get to do so. I ate butter chicken and naan bread by the bucket load. Put on 20kgs. Loved every minute of it.
S, I have to say that left sitting on your desk is probably where any lentil soup deserves to be!!