Saturday, October 16, 2010

Don't hate the player

Part of my routine includes collecting Dad's ironed laundry from the dobi. The dobi proprietress, Jane, is a chatty sort who seems to get a kick out of the fact I'm one of the few females who visits the place.

She addresses me as "hot stuff" and "hottie" whenever she sees me, which makes the other (male) customers take a second look, given that I tend to roll up in the daggiest of house-wear (tatty shirt, saggy walking shorts, hair in a careless ponytail).

She was working at the counter when I showed up a few days ago. The conversation went thus:

Jane: Wah, hot chick, how are you ah?
Me: Good, and you?
Jane: Same-same lah... your boyfriend how ah?
Me: Same-same la, hehe. How was your holiday?
Jane: Good-oh! Eh... you still freedom ah?

I was about to tell her that while I'm happy with Enfant Terrible, I also like not being married before I realised what she actually meant.

Me: Oh, you mean freelance issit?
Jane: Ya la!
Me: *pedantically* But you said "freedom" leh.
Jane: Aiyah, freelance... freedom, same la! You can go out anytime you want!
Me: Oh, ya huh!

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