The Thong SongDear Diary,
Today, I fell in love with a beautiful Tibetan red wrap-around skirt. I had to have it. Getting the skirt for 30% off made it all the more desirable. I wanted to wear it immediately for a later outing with friends, and so I teamed it up with a sleeveless, scoop-neck black top, flat sandals, black Penan bracelets, and a mother-of-pearl necklace that I had bought during last year’s trip to the Philippines.
As with all new diaphanous skirts, I did the obligatory underwear check with Mom. She gave me the enthusiastic thumbs up as I twirled around. Apparently she wasn’t paying too much attention or thought I was going with the skanky ho look, for when I met up with my friends, Joyce thoughtfully asked, “are you wearing a thong?”
“NO!” I yelped indignantly, and then muttered, “Yes, and please don’t tell me you can see it.”
Following detailed description of thong was not at all very helpful.
After flashing a certain area of Kuching with said thong, I was ready to call it a night. A French movie (8 Femmes) viewing in a non-public area (i.e. Joyce’s house) sounded promising, and safe from other humiliation antics that I might unconsciously be up to.
And so I thought, until I did the stupid robotic dance and flooded her living room floor.
I think I should go to bed now, Diary and not wake up till July.