D da Dude

In addition to having neglected my blog for many, many days now, I have secretly (and now that I am doing a blog entry on it - "not so secretly") been going insanely jealous of the recent blogbabez meetup in Karachi (read all about it in the the blogs of Jammie, Khizzy, Insi and Sheza).

I looked at the pix and I read the different accounts of the same afternoon and I swear, I could feel I was one of them: sitting around that table, clutching my own cup of Espresso-fare and partaking in a delightful ‘pseudo-intellectual-meeting-of-the-minds' (as referred to by jammie).

Babes, next time I’m in town, please all of you also be. Maybe we can pseudofy some more.

It was something that happened in that meeting and reported later in the blogs that inspired me to break my blog-roza and type type type away on company time.

Insi blogged about how she was told she was much quieter than her blog. And Khizzy got told she was much more ‘sane’.

The whole ‘blogs and the people behind them’ deal reminded me of something that made me smile very hard yesterday.

I popped into City Centre after my Saturday morning run to meet up with Arfiman and D, as D was flying back to UK that evening and I wanted to spend some more time with him.

So there we were, in Claire’s (no, you CANNOT keep me out of a shop filled with shiny, sparkly things … I’m quite the magpie that way) trying to return a watch I had bought not ten seconds ago (long story: the price tag was manky and what I thought was 38 was infact 68 and the watch I happily would have paid 38 for, I would not have paid 68 for because it looked like it wouldn’t last more than a week on my wrist … or so I thought then, because right now, BPC WANT SHINY SHINY DIAMANTE WACTH !!!), so I returned the watch and filled in the return form (“reason for returning purchased product”? Hmm … lessee …. “Too expensive”).

D’s standing next to me and on the countertop next to the cashier, I spot the weirdest item: it’s a coin purse shaped like a baby sock. Really.



(I was going to try and describe it, but realising that EVERYTHING is already on the net, I just googled it)

Mystified, I pick it up and ask D:

“Do you think that if I open this right now I ‘ll find some tiny little toes inside?”

And D bursts out laughing.

“That is EXACTLY the kind of thing you would say on your blog!”

Well, it IS my blog, I shrug. And he tells me how – as opposed to what I would like to believe – I am much more docile in real life.

Really, Arfiman tells me, if I were my blog, I’d be too tough to handle. Hee hee.

So anyway … D.

*sigh*

He’s not even really my friend. Or is he? Where do you draw the line between your friend’s and your husband’s? Is he not mine too then?

D and Arfiman have been friends for 21 years. Add four years and that’s my grand Old Age itself.

Whatever little time I’ve spent with D while he’s been in Dubai and while we’ve gone to stay with him in Portsmouth, has been great.

He’s funny in a very proper way and he’s proper in such a fun way.

And this summer, he weds Lin. On a Mediterranean cruise. So we’ve established that he’s incredibly romantic as well.

Congrats to D and Lin then. They make a great pair. You have to see them together to realize that when two people are made for each other… well, you can plainly see it. And with these two … okay okay … enough.

D, we just can’t quit you :)

Here’s a pic of us at O’s birthday do this weekend. I won’t give away the premise of the picture, as it really is Hinamommy’s story to tell. So Hinamommy, go on and tell …