"Do you want to share a cab?" She broke out in Chinese.
I ignored her, because I didn't know where she wanted to take a cab to, and even if I did, I probably wouldn't want to. I sat on the sole dry seat at the bus stop, waiting for my bus. Less than ten seconds later, she got off her seat, stood in front of me, and elaborated further, "I want to take a taxi to Toa Payoh, but I don't have enough money."
"Then take a bus!" I said matter-of-factly.
"But I can't because I have a bad leg."
"Then how did you even get here?" It was raining heavily enough to be poor conditions for any lame person to be out and about.
"I walked!"
I had nothing to say to that, so I said, "Why don't you take a cab by yourself?"
"I don't have enough money!"
"Then why didn't you bring money out?"
"I'm unemployed, I don't have money."
"Then why don't you take a bus?" I was having fun being accusatory, because my accusations were actually valid.
"Because I have a bad leg!"
"So why do you need to go to Toa Payoh?"
"I have something important to do."
"If you have something important to do, why didn't you bring more money?"
"I am not working, I don't have money."
It went on like that for a while more, when she had enough of vindictively defending herself and walked off the borders of the bus stop, her medicinal scent of peat bog wafting after her.
The cab fare from where I was to Toa Payoh would have been five dollars at most. If this woman did not even have enough for five dollars, how can I expect her to even have $2.50? And considering that she had something important to do! Anyway, she's unemployed and unemployable. What does the economy do with tax burdens? Heck, what does natural selection do to encumbrances like her?
Also, the cashier at Phoon Huat asked me if I was a dancer. I asked him to repeat himself, and then I asked why he thought I was a dancer. "You look like a dancer," he said.
"I'm not a dancer, I just like wearing shiny tights," I remarked. I doubt he understood me. Even if he did, I wouldn't have known, because I responded with my back to him.
Times like these I wish I could think on my feet and make witty and flirty banter. But I don't know how to make something up on the spot that'd be sufficiently witty, flirty, yet not cheesy. Then again, who flirts with a Phoon Huat cashier? That being said, he does know his baking stuff. Also, it would probably be good practice. It's strange how out of all the times I've shopped there, this is the first time he spoke to me personally. I'm guessing it's because I usually wear a uniform when I go there, and I happened to be revealing some decolletage today. An enhanced chestal region is just about the only benefit of weight gain.
I just made a Bailey's souffle. I don't have a ramekin so I had to make it in a mug.
It wasn't bad. Egg can never taste bad, especially if the only two things added were sugar and Bailey's. Now I want to try the real Bailey's souffle at Bakerzin for an inflated price of approximately nine dollars just to see if it's significantly better than mine. If it is, it means that Daniel Tay, founder of Bakerzin, gave us an inferior recipe.
Here's the recipe, from Daniel Tay's Just Desserts:
Ingredients:
Unsalted butter for greasing ramekin
Sugar for coating ramekin
1 egg, separated
1 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp Bailey's liqueur
Makes 1 small souffle
1. Preheat oven to 180 degrees Celcius.
2. Prepare an 8cm wide and 4.5cm deep ramekin. Brush the inside of ramekin with butter, spoon some sugar into ramekin, then tilt ramekin around to coat sides with sugar. Overturn ramekin and discard excess sugar.
3. Place egg white in a small bowl and whisk until foamy. Add sugar and whisk until light and fluffy with small peaks.
4. Place egg yolk in another bowl and gradually add half of egg white mixture while stirring constantly with a spatula. Stir until well-combined, then whisk in remaining egg white mixture and liqueur.
5. Pour batter into ramekin and bake for 8-10 minutes until souffle is well-risen. Serve immediately.
*******
I tried reading Catch-22 for the second time. I didn't get it when I was 16, and I still don't find it terribly gripping at 18. Maybe I'll appreciate it when I'm 20. Am now appreciating Milan Kundera. I wish he wrote in English, though. I always feel like something is lost in translation and that puts me off from reading translated books.
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