It's Raining Veins & Dimples

Me: Don’t forget to write me into your will. You hoard so much money, it will be a pleasure to be your friend when you are dead.

Mr Veins: I will give you all my organs.

Me: Are they, or, will they, be in excellent condition?

Mr Veins: Yes.

Me: *makes a face* Don’t want. I hope I never need them.

*

Mr Veins asked if I preferred Japanese or Fish and when I squeaked”Japanese??” in disbelief, he promptly swept me to Bon Gout, this quaint Japanese book café for dinner. It’s tucked away in a little known corner of Robertson Quay.

I hated the food, by the way.

*

Mr Veins comes without fuss or frills. I’m still trying to decide whether to put a premium on plain weirdness in the light of his devotion to “plan for me” and dedication to “irritate hell outta me.”

The thing is, there are people who are very nice to me in a normal way. I really shouldn’t be penalizing them for acting normally nice and nicely normal.

*headache*

I’m a girl. I like it when people fuss over me. It’s natural, lah.