Sliding Doors

It’s raining outside, and I’m eating pancakes loaded with blueberry with coffee for breakfast. It reminds me of university days when I used to make french toast for me and my dorm mates while it rained on weekend afternoons. It always made the food taste better.

Yesterday, I went shopping at Oxford St. After lunch, I noticed that I splashed pasta sauce on my white shirt–which was probably nature’s way of telling me that my clothes do not go with my braids. So I was forced to change to the pink dress that I just bought from H&M (and it really went well with the braids).

When I was rushing to catch the train at the Piccadilly station, the doors slid shut and squeezed me off to the platform. But my bags remained inside! I stubbornly held on to it because the lovely purple bag I got for Mom was in there and I couldn’t bear the thought of strangers looking through my just-bought M&S underwear, hahaha. I panicked and mouthed HELP and the doors opened. So I jumped in. After the train left the station I realized that I WAS ON THE WRONG TRAIN.

Dammit. So I alighted and just walked all the way to the National Gallery. And that concludes yesterday’s exercise.

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One thought on “Sliding Doors

  1. Ah, how I miss the rain!

    I’m certain you don’t miss the 50’C camel-roasting weather over here.

    The only temptation London holds for me is Waterstones. If I was in England, I would get out of London as quickly as possible and head for the countryside. Riyadh has given me more than enough Big City.

    Give me a deserted coastline to walk along. Give me hills and rivers. Give me fields and trees. Give me blustery wind and drizzle. Give me a wax jacket upon my back and a pair of stout boots.

    Fifteen years of sunshine is quite enough for me.

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