See cock ah see?

That’s Manglish [Malaysian English, or Mangled English] for : Whatcha looking at yer creep! to all my international readers.

As I was enjoying my dinner [mm, food. See, I DO eat!], I noticed a woman at the table next to me continually glancing my way to steal glances at me.

First time she does that, I consider the fact that I may look familiar to her. Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth yada yada time, I start to get a little annoyed. Creeped out even. Here’s a woman in her late 30s or early 40s whom I DO NOT know, looking at me eating food. I muttered to my mum “Fucking bitch at the next table is staring at me!”. Yeah, we swear a LOT in my family.

By the end of my meal, I got so FED UP of her attempting to discreetly stare at me [epic fail, as I caught her every. time. ], I positioned myself at a 90º angle so that I could see her. Yes, uncomfortable for me and I dripped food every where like a toddler, but I needed to eat in peace.

Stupid cow still tried to look at me. What the FUCK is her problem?! A quick check revealed that I had 2 ears, 2 eyes, 2 nostrils, 2 hands, 2 legs, so really, why was she looking at me like a sideshow freak?

It could be because my hair’s so short, I’m wearing shorts and a slightly baggy tee, that I look like a boy. Maybe she thinks that I’m my mum’s 13 year old toyboy who’s undergoing gender reassignment as from certain angles you can catch a hint of bosom. But whatever it is, if she is going to stare, I will give her something to stare at [did HER MOTHER not teach her not to stare?!].

So as I left the table, I put on my lowest voice and announced to half the restaurant :

My tits are damn sore today!

Whilst giving my twins a good boob lift [for added dramatic flair, nonetheless]. I shouldn’t call them twins, for they resemble grapes instead of grapefruits.

It worked, for she gaped at me and I sauntered out the restaurant.

Righty, today’s Bikram practice [before I get carried away and talk about boob jobs and boob lifts and have someone come along and say I should love my boobs la di da - oh here I go again!] :

Lock the damn knee. Lock the damn knee. Lock the DAMN knee, even in tulandandasana! Erik said that if my knee’s locked, my leg wouldn’t fly up too high and correcting me would be easier.

That and I need to seriously work on keeping my knee locked throughout every posture in the standing series [except for... awkward, garurasana, etc].

Off to bed. Can’t type straight.

M*