saltish pork knuckle, anyone?

2nd day of new template. doesn't look like this one is going to stay either. i'm not crazy about using a foreign comment whatchamacalit (should i be saying this? will haloscan cancel my membership and take away all remaining contact with my readers?) but i don't have a choice because the original template didn't come with one. pray tell, who will write a template for a blog but not add the comment or title part?!? even the blogger banner at the top is missing; i've got to go to blogger's main page to log in. nevermind, ignore the itsy bitsy sticky pieces. quick, meditate. ohmmmmmmmmmm! overall, i think i like the white background and the clean lines but the right side does look a little empty, a little incomplete, yet if i were to add things in there (and i still haven't gone into the part whether i know how to add things in there in the first place) it'll just be too.....too.....packed. a little like living conditions in hong kong. and it'll drive me crazy again.

nevermind, just concentrate on typing the words and ignore the surrounding. ohmmmmmm! i'm achieving another plane of peaceful existence through the 'pretend all crap doesn't exist' meditation. ohmmmmmm!

last saturday, decked out in spaghetti strapped tees and a skirt, i terrorised the local market. cheated myself a few 'lenglui' from the market vendors but no one thought it appropriate to give me an extra serving of food or an extra cut of meat. sheesh! not mesmerising enough for their standard, it will seem. no one scrambled to my feet to offer me some free vegetables or kneeled and begged me to take their offerings. on the other hand, i wouldn't be surprised if my poultry, vegetables and meat were hiked up to take into the account the free but oh so shallow compliments.

as i was looking at the produce, i felt a finger brush against my tushy. marketplace being usually crowded and packed with people, although saturday's market was hardly that crammed, the clanging alarm bell inside my head that goes 'wolf! wolf!' didn't go off. still, i turned and threw invisible daggers with my eyes at the back of the indian man who strolled leisurely past. if my eyes were equipped with bazooka employment technology, that guy would have been blasted to mars. having finished with my visual world war 3, i returned my attention to selection of the produce. few minutes later, at another spot, i felt the finger brush against my tushy again. hello?? twice? i turned to confirm that the finger indeed belonged to the saltish pork knuckle hand. the man was just leisurely strolling past again, with nary a plastic bag of purchase. he stopped a few feet away, looked around with no intention whatsoever to buy anything, then proceed to walk his catwalk back again. that colour wolf!! he was targeting the market for his victims, doing a slow leisurely catwalk up and down, touching tushies wherever he went. i looked straight into his eyes and started grumbling very loudly in chinese. why chinese? whatever language would have been wasted on him anyway, so why not choose something that he has no idea what i am saying. the effect of the unknown will be more pronounced. hubby as usual, being as blur as he normally is, was blissfully ignorant that his wife was outraged and fuming, clueless that she was grumbling away.

the man, seeing that he has ticked me off, immediately folded his wandering hands, which further confirmed my conviction that his acts were indeed purposeful. mr pork knuckle decided to postpone his cheap thrills for another day and walked off into oblivion.