It is time

Bags packed. Legs waxed. Swimsuit bought. Tickets confirmed. Bags unpacked. Eye liner missing. Books bought. Ipod loaded. Nails bitten. Nerves frazzled. Back of closet cleaned (Ooooh found eye liner). Bags lying wide open. Hair dryer packed. Hair dryer unpacked (Husbands can be so cruel). Last minute butt crunches left half way. Goodbyes exchanged. Mothers hugged. Bags locked for good this time.

Am off to see the Rock Gods in Oz.

Be still my thumping heart.

Humph

There’s this old, Gujarati gentleman who insists on sneaking up behind me when I’m huffing and puffing my heart out in the gym, and gently whispers in my ear, ‘You’ve put on 2 more kilos.’

Listen up old man, I've got a weighing scale with a huge dent, half a dozen skirts with broken zips and a dustbin full of empty chocolate wrappers to tell me that. So the next time we meet, just keep walking, ok? Don’t even make eye contact. Or I’ll put those extra 2 kilos to good use.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something deep fried in butter that’s got my name all over it.