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Apart from my traveling partner's(TP) strange obsession to anything cute, who by the way also bakes salty green tea cookies, she's also highly intoxicated with the thing called love - the fresh out-of-the-oven kind of lovestruck disease. I don't think there is a need for me to elaborate the woe of being in the company of someone highly saturated with love. Suffice it to say, at this moment, seeing silly smiles and listening to coquettish talks (basically a combination among the verbs whimpering, moaning and babytalking) from her is a regular routine for me. Just as regular as, say, eating my daily dose of prunes.
Love is a scary disease. Not only it makes people talk like they have drop off their spinal cords somewhere, It makes them corny too. TP, for instance, laughs at anyone's slightest attempt to humor. I bet if I talk to her about my skin allergy, she'd roll on the floor laughing hysterically and give me that coquettish wink too. *shiver*
On my 12th day with her somewhere in Las Vegas, I woke up discovering I lost count how many days I have not pooped. My only basis to recognizing that I haven't pooped for days is when my stomache starts to bloat and my smile starts to fade that even during picture-taking, the effort of flashing that hypocritical 2-seconder smile becomes excruciating already as if an elephant was sleeping on top of my nose and lifting my face takes three million and one muscle to move.
Being constipated is just as depressing as having no money. There was a time when a fellow tourmate asked me to take them a family picture. Because my stomache was filled with poop accumulated all throughout the past few days and poop was the only thing swimming inside my mind, I inadvertently said "say poop....!!!" instead of "say cheese...!!!" prior to clicking the camera. It was embarrassing I wished I was as small as an ant.
In my quest to alleviate my pooping issue, I decided to consult my lovestruck TP. I was going to ask her where can I buy some food rich in fibre since she's more familiar with the place. At that point, I remember she was reading a text message from her handyphone, which basing for the way she smiled, I can safely bet all assets under my name, which include five discs of pirated DVDs and a box of half-filled prunes, that she was reading a message from her beau - the culprit of all her coquettish talks and silly smiles. That bastard.
TP kindly pointed me to the direction of a nearby convenient store which I was grateful for and gave me that deadly smile which I was not grateful for. That smile, which I am going to define as the hideous little smile (more thoroughly illustrated on the left side of this paragraph) that up to this day I will never forget, is the kind of smile when you try not to smile because you have no reason to but you can't stop smiling and so you press your lips tight to hide it making the two holes of your nose expand like inflatable pillow. You know when someone gives you a compliment and you're too shy to smile, you pretend you didn't hear it and hold your smile? That kind of smile.
Seeing that smile gives me the creep and makes all the hair on my nape erect. But I let it pass. Afterall, my TP, also my bestfriend, is happy. If she's happy, I should be happy too. Never mind my constant dealing with two continually expanding nose holes, I'll learn to like it in time.
A little while later fresh out of the convenience store, dangling on my hands was a small box of prunes. I was hopeful but not yet so perky due to my bloating stomache. She saw me and nudged at me. I, in response, announced nonchalantly that I just bought a box of prunes to which she reacted with a hearty giggle.
I began to wonder what was so funny about my statement "I bought prunes." Is there something funny about the statement I am not sure. All I know is her giggle will make other people think someone was tickling her which the constipated me would surely not do. And so I cleared my throat and told her I bought a box of prunes hoping to get a more appropriate reaction. She giggled once again. I gave up.
We are a great combination, TP and I. She tolerates my constipation and constant whining about gaining weight. I tolerate her silly smiles and strange reactions. There I was, on the street of Las Vegas always in search for food rich in high fibre, constipated and bloated and there my TP was, lovestruck, talks like a baby even to me, laughs at corny jokes or even constipation-related inquiries. Life is poopy and sweet don't you think?
[I love my TP don't get me wrong. This entry is dedicated to her.]
