This morning (Sunday), I have to waste at least 10 minutes to get ready for choir practice.

Yesterday afternoon, I have to waste another 15 minutes to get ready for church.

This afternoon, again, I have to waste another 15 minutes to go to the Canon warehouse sales and dinner. (btw, I got a video camcorder from Canon already)

Just within 24 hours, I have wasted 40 minutes of my life. Over what? Over make-up. The mascara, eye-shadows, foundation, loose powder, compact foundation, SKII smelly yeast water, sun block, lipsticks, lip gloss.

Seven to eight months ago, I also wasted my time over these lorry load of creams, lotions, colours, mask and etc. Somehow, when I was volunteering at the cancer hospital, I took time to dress down and after a few months, I become so comfortable with my brown pants and black t-shirt ‘self imposed’ uniform.

I was about to mulch back to my tomboy state. I love being a tomboy. Cut the hair short-short, wear loose baggy clothings and slip into a selipar. They call it pengkid. I call it liberation.

But……..*insert sad music* last week, someone asked me if I brought my GRANDSON! My GRANDSON! WTF! Adoi, my ego was broken into million pieces. She is single, retired and she knew me for a while already as we were in some projects many times.

Aiyoyoyo….ammah… mean to tell me that all the while you thought I am a retiree like you just because I can do whatever you can do? I am a mom with four kids lah. I am super busy with million of things to do. But I am much efficient so that’s why people tend to think I am very free. They thought I am RETIRED. WTF. I retired when I was 35 years old, ok? I am only 44 years old and a few months and a few days old only.

Lucky the building I was in where the conversation took place has only a single storey and the bell tower is not accessible. Otherwise, aiyoyoyo, I gonna jump already.

So, yesterday, with a very bruised ego, I have to be a good girl and brings out my box of make-up, skincare and eyebrow shaper. I need to go get my hair cut. I need to start my mask regime. I need to dig out all my non-pengkid clothes from my wardrobe and start wearing things that show breasts, waist and butt. I hate that. I love being a tomboy. I want to be a tomboy. But sometimes, at a certain age, you realised that you have to fight Mommy Nature or else people think I am a grandma with a very cute grandson and an even cuter gingerbread man.

When is the next confession ah? I must go confess, “Forgive me Father but I have thoughts of killing people because killing self is painful…”