Being in her shoes

It's not easy being in your counterpart's shoes. Really. It's tough. Way tougher than i had expected. It puts such a large strain on my feet that it hurts real bad. Especially since I have feet the size of the Yeti and hers are those of a fleet-footed pixie. Just trying to squeeze my manly toes into her seven-ers makes the blood clog along the veins, turning them into a purple-reddish freak show.

Not to mention that her shoes stink after walking up and down her work place counting dustbins (as commanded by the contractors there), as well as climbing some 'worse-than-brunei' slope that exists en route her office, which i suppose serves no other purpose other than to give lazy couch potatoes working in the offices some real nice punishing workouts. I know of her every-morning-plight as i experienced this masochistic torment first hand today.

Well, take heart : If anyone ever suffers from cardiac arrest whilst huffing and puffing up the steep slope, there is always the NUH emergency wards just at the foot below the hill.

Oh, and its also not easy being in her shoes as they tend to look girly and pinkish with flowery patterns printed on them.