A few weeks ago, I had this terrible scare. My breasts started hurting, or more specifically, the sides hurt really bad. So I took out the lovely expensive bras I’ve bought and collected and made little cuts at the sides so I could pull out all the underwire–which were probably the culprit. Ruining them hurt, but at least my chest feels better.
I would go without them but I can’t stand the thought of being perky in public. 😀
And that totally random anecdote is just the introduction of my painful blog entry which is all about my visit to the British Visa application office. SLOWpaperwork … PEOPLEjumpingQUEUES … noisyKIDS … HAVINGtoSTANDbecauseTHEREwereNOseats … That was basically it and more. It took me the whole morning and afternoon to wait for my turn and finally, when my number was called, I showed them my thick mass of forms and bank statements and then I was told that I had a missing requirement.
“You’re a legal dependent of your father. You need his permission to travel.”
I called Daddy to come AT ONCE and give me a letter. Handwritten.
Geez… You don’t think of these things when you’re 24. 😛