Anny Chih

As you can tell, I haven’t been writing a whole lot these past few months. Instead, I’ve been thinking a lot, realizing even more, and taking a page out of Bambi by biting my tongue because letting my words run as wild as my thoughts would no doubt get me into a lot of trouble. If you know me at all, you know that I do NOT like being censored; it feels like having my soul sucked out of my body with a slow dirty vacuum.

But, something that I hate *almost* as much as soul-sucking censorship is whinging. So I’ve made a couple of big changes to get rid of the unhappiness in my life (way to go me!). The first change won’t take effect until my next birthday, and the second won’t show any results until next year. Until then, I’m going to avoid writing about certain topics for a while, continue to be annoyingly metaphorical, and focus on trivial matters like Henry’s recent defilement. Enjoy!

Henry’s Misfortune

Poor Henry couldn’t see what was coming

I love my car. I really do. I swear sometimes that I was supposed to be born a boy because no girl I know loves her car as much as I love Henry.

On Tuesday as I walked towards him after work, I didn’t quite believe my eyes. The “I must be dreaming” thought really did cross my mind. Henry’s rear-end had been violated! :O

I squatted down to take a closer look. Something awful had scraped two long gashes through his paint. The culprit left no note, and the neighbourhood was void of any potential eye witnesses. I remembered parking between two small cars that morning, but this work was not a small car feat. No, it was a monster that did this.

I drove away from the scene of the crime with a feeling that was new to me. I felt like I should be mad, but I wasn’t. Instead, the feeling was more like when you put on a gorgeous new dress to attend a posh event, your hair is perfect, your make-up flawless, and right after you enter the doors you realize that you have the worst rip along your entire stocking. It’s obvious and embarrassing, and it doesn’t matter if you change or remove your stockings. Your outfit just isn’t quite the same anymore and a part of you is terribly disappointed. (ok, maybe I should be a girl)

The drive home was a very self-conscious one and I had a twinge of guilt for being a bit ashamed of having these two large gashes on the bumper. It was as if I had let Henry down twice.

I haven’t parked on that street since.

PS Open note to the person behind the monster: shame on you.