I bought two French-made blouses of identical designs but of different colors. Nice fabric: clings to the skin, flows like water, flattering. Earth yellow and black. I know egg yellow, but earth yellow?
Three hours later, I'm back at the mall across my workplace. For some coffee. My office has become claustrophobia-inducive I had to get out. Couldn't breathe in there.
A dress shop window display caught my eye. Just had to buy the skirt, a gray one. Decently, fashionably short, about three inches off the knees.
Now, I'm seated waiting for my hot chocolate to come. Changed my mind about coffee. Pictures on the menu make you do this.
What's keeping the blasted cup from coming? This is my fifth paragraph since I ordered it.
Affluence surrounds me. This is not the Philippines in the news. Is this a fake world? With fake people, fake shops, fake everything? Me including?
There are notes on stationeries tucked beneath the glass-covered table I'm writing on. The notes are from customers saying they're loving Mary Grace's cakes, pastries, etc.
Finally, my hot choc, thick, very thick, hot, very hot, arrives. Orange cup on red saucer. And I'm writing on red, vampire red organizer. My purse, the same bloody red.
Aroma deserves some praises. Delay is forgiven.
Jonathan is creepy. How in the world does he know?