Chronicles of a Toilet Ninja.

So I was at the white throne at the office washroom, doing what people do when suddenly - someone came in to... Well, presumably do the same.

I had my mobile with me so I quickly engaged in some quick intel-gathering (that floor had only one department, with only so many people) and texted a colleague, "someone's in the washroom with me, who's missing from the office?"

I must not be seen. To be seen meant the disgrace of my ninja-hood.

That someone went into the cubicle one away from mine (good that she knows washroom etiquette) and ...rubbed her clothes together. Obviously, I couldn't see what she was doing but it sounded like she went in there to give part of her attire a good dry scrubbing. No response came from my accomplice, I still did not know who that person was. 

This was getting interesting. What did she come here for, if not for depository purposes? Why was she there and what did she want? 

I was almost ready to get out, but it might mean exposing my identity and worse, making eye-contact and perhaps awkward bathroom small talk. But I could wait: inaction is also an action.

Alas, my bathroom strategist seemed to have the same idea!

Thus I flushed, abandoning my Tortoise Strategy in favour of the Rabbit Manoeuvre and signalled my desire to quit the place. Perhaps she would succumb to conventional bathroom etiquettial pressures and stay within her stall like a good bathroom ninja - but who would have guessed that when I did she too. 

I should have anticipated that she would rely on the paranoid sensors that took it upon themselves to gush another one after you were done. Perhaps she too wanted to know who was the mysterious occupier of that one stall: the direct nemesis to my cause of remaining bathroom-anonymous.

I had underestimated my cunning colleague. 

Our eyes met. Her white throne flushed.

Thus. I smiled and said hello, conceding this round to my opponent. You won this round, Karen. But next time, I shall out-ninja you when we next not meet again.

Morte de Canis.

There would be times in your past when you suddenly weren't sure of things. 

Such is a sudden time. Suddenly it looked like I didn't know somebody anymore - or perhaps those traits had been there this entire time, just that it hadn't the chance to surface - and thus I had the unexpected privilege of dealing with a curve-ball situation. Life, they call it. 

Thus. Curve balls de morte canis. I sincerely wonder if there would be a new beginning should there be another curve ball for the same reason, and would it continue to be my fault. Meanwhile, I'm going to back up to my cave and lick my wounds. 

Cold Coffee Storm In A Sippy-Paper Cup.

The comfortable, familiar taste, sans the warmth. Which was partly why you bought the coffee: to warm your heart while it goes down to warm your core. It's gosh-coffee.

I sip it now, out of the paper cup, through the badly-manufactured plastico adult sippy-cuppo - and wonder: a coffee without the warmth, is it still the coffee you set out to purchase?

It was gosh-coffee. But now it's... Well, coffee. Still thick, sweet, and suitably robust, still gives you the same caffeine kick- but what about the warmth? A bit like love-gone-cold, isn't it? Still there, but - y'know.

But so what? Isn't that another way to know thine coffee? Some not just like it cold I hear, they like it frapped. Topped with whipped cream and cocoa rock'n'roll. Me, budding ole fogey that I am, prefer the traditional. Robust, butter-caramelised, roasted coffee. With generous lashings of sweet, thick milk. 

So my gosh-coffee got cold. I'll still drink it. Because I have it, because I chose it, my tea-time autonomy. And so it was.

The First Time.

I hear kids blame their parents for a lot of things - the way they are, the way they look, the way they deal with money, relationships, why didn't they give more love - lots of things.

These kids are resentful, angry. Angsty. Yes, that's the word. 

It seemed so long ago that I felt the same way. Only now, I see the proxy for my future: my niece. I want to love her, adore her and make her smile - 

Except now I realise that hey, my parents, when they had me, they had me for the first time. And a last time too, because I am their only child. As I understood this I also understood that I also am doing a lot of things for the first time. Finding that Special Someone who wanted to be found. Holding on to that Someone gently and dearly, because I know I'm being held on to gently and dearly.

Thinking about the prospect of having a child, balancing an infant mindset, the inevitable cuteness and later on, belligerence - future, livelihood, education, character - and I realise that I, me. I'm doing this for the first time too. 

Could I get it right at first go? Did my parents err spectacularly? Have I turned out alright, was - AM - I what they'd hoped I would grow up to be? Does it matter?

...I think that having a child is like having a pet dragon, except it looks like you, talks like you and even thinks like you. Almost like a science project, only natural. Mini-Me - one that'd been lovingly carved from your heart, one whom you'd like to not make the same mistakes you did because its beauty is enough to buy it immortality in your eyes - who's ready for that?? 

Golly.

I wonder if I could get it right, at first go.