Saturday

Where I work, Saturdays are the worst days of all (but, what?  You didn't hear it here!).  Because the publication runs on Sunday (no prizes for guessing which one!) we work the longest and most hectic hours on Saturday.  I start work at ten in the morning if I don't have a job, and if I have an assignment, it means I may need to be somewhere are far as Jurong as early as 8am.

    Then, the day plays out like a frenetic series of events, usually governed by confusion, and sometimes we make it out as late as 10pm or 1am.  On the nastiest days, there is no time for meals.  As if that were not bad enough, I'm usually beseiged by a massive case of the munchies when I get done, and am too wound up to go to bed, which leaves me both fat (damn you, 24 hour Macdonald's!) and exhausted.  Big whoop, yo.

    Except for that one day when some irresponsible people from my desk left work in the middle of the evening to go and get bubble tea for everyone else and bought chocolate souffle cakes and sticks of lucious, juicy Tori Q dripping brown gravy on rice and Japanese pickles and then Dawn called in the midst of it and threatened to tell on said people and so they bought her an extra big bubble tea to shut her up and then hurried back in the drizzle with arms full of fragrant packages to stuff their faces at their desks just to make work more bearable.  Some irresponsible people.  BUT NOT ME. 
   
    It's also crappy when it rains on Saturdays and we have to go out in the grey wetness to chase down interviewees or events.

Hooded shirt - "Some New Zealand brand, I forgot what it's called

but if they have similar stuff I'd definitely buy more," said The D.

Brown pants - Levis.  Boots - Dr Martens.

 

    So when I saw The D last Saturday in this cheerful, cosy hooded shirt against the drippy reality of the evening, I suddenly felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

    Also testament to how nutty we get on Saturday?  When Irene, Sumita and I saw pictures of our backs had made it into the papers from a strange undercover job, instead of getting worried about our identities being discovered, Sumita said: "Why does my ass look so big?"

    Irene leaned in to examine hers and announced proudly: "They took mine from the side so it doesn't look so wide."

    Me?  I was too busy admiring my lustrous hair bun to answer.