Right this moment I am taking a rare, medically
enforced break from my normal
breakneck routine. Doc ordered strict bed rest
and maybe the occasional visit to
the toilet but only when absolutely
necessary. Which is why I’m right now
sneaking a forbidden rant on my
brand-new technological acquisition; my 12 inch
screen 1.4 kg (inclusive of
battery) wafer thin laptop codenamed Sasha. Small
enough for my briefcase,
tough enough not to contract my virus, & cute
enough to get away with
work even on a sickbed.
My own cleverness astounds me sometimes.
Working backwards, let me just say that my trip to KL was wonderful, productive,
fruitful, the works. On the downside, I managed to catch one those virulent West
Malaysian D & V bugs at the tail-end of my trip. “D & V” (aka “Diarrhea
& Vomiting”) is just med speak for what the laymen would call, the “urge to
purge.” For a while I thought perhaps the salmon at breakfast was the culprit.
No fear. Imodium’s here. But at the check-in counter the airlines guy’s face
suddenly disappeared from my line of vision. It was much later that I discovered
I was the one who “disappeared” right behind the counter. Passed out cold along
with Sasha, who miraculously broke my fall without sustaining any injuries
herself. (Thanks to the super-shock memory foam bag I got her just moments
earlier.)
Fast-forward a few days and here we are in bed. I am exhausted from sneaking out
earlier to run some errands. I’m not a sucker for punishment but with my
sister
breathing down my neck re Sammy’s import license, I couldn’t afford
to lose
another day to chronic pet anxiety. Sammy is a 7 month old West
Highland Terrier
who looks exactly like Snowy in the Tin-Tin comics. His Mom
who happens to be my
younger sister Mei Mei is about to relocate from UK to
Australia. So I get to
babysit Sammy while she and her hubby are sorting
things out Down Under.
Provided I handle the application for Sammy’s import
license. Something I
promised to do a month ago but never got around to
finishing due to various
excellent reasons.
From my comfy bed I called the four numbers listed for the Animal Import
Licensing Department. Each calls required a minimum on-hold period of 20 minutes
followed by a supremely confused individual at the other end who doesn’t seem to
know he’s working for the Animal Import Licensing Department. (Sometimes I
suspect they make the cleaners pick up the phone when they sneak off work
early.) I made a note in my pad to drive to the darn building myself. Then I
called the Veterinary Section at the airport to figure out the procedures
required upon Sammy’s arrival. This time I only had to call them 3 times but
on-hold period was 25 minutes each. I hung up. Yelled at my bedroom wall for 2
minutes. Made another note to drive to the airport and track the relevant
officer down like a bloodhound.
To aid me in my quest to liberate Sammy from his potential quarantine hell, was
my trusty steed, Le-Le. I dressed her up like the doll she really is &
tucked her inside my jacket to avoid detection in the government buildings. This
being Malaysia, most people are allergic to dogs no matter how adorably precious
they may be. For the Muslims, it’s because dogs are considered “unclean”. Wait
till they meet some Brits I know. Haha.
Anyway, to avoid controversy, I bundled her up in my jacket & cradled her
against my chest like a wriggling baby, thinking that would get us through the
door unnoticed. Unfortunately, I did not consider the unerring radar of the
red-blooded heterosexual male animal. My wriggling bundle attracted at least ten
men who practically ran to peer at my chest region. I thought it was unusual for
men to be obsessed with “baby” (since that’s normally the domain of giggling
salesgirls and old aunties). Typical of most guys, when a group saunters over,
the others start to catch up, asking what the fuss was about. That’s when I got
my first clue. Some “kutu Muthu” guy told his friend “Dia sedang menyusui bayi!”
(Translation: The chick’s breastfeeding!]
I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or dropkick my bundle of doggy joy. Now I
was caught between having to reveal that I’d actually brought a little dog into
a government building & risk being escorted out by security guards before I
got the import license application form…OR…keep pretending that I was
breastfeeding a “baby” smothered in my jacket. I thought about the last hour I’d
spent on the phone being put on hold and chose the latter. Suffice to say, it
was a pretty full lift to the 3rd floor! Those clowns wanted to catch a glimpse
of the “baby's” natural sustenance, to put it delicately. And overseas, women are actually campaigning to be able to do this in public places?? Mind-boggling, this culture thang.
I practically ran out of the lift before the doors
could open fully. MEN. They’re like hormone-operated tools with only one
button: Predictable, simple, fail-proof. Blanket statements are not fair, so
let’s just say that these traits only apply to males at the Animal Department
ok?
In short after much effort & about 3 hours of being referred to one
department after another (all of whom gave me special consideration since I was
“nursing” an apparently very hungry “baby”), I finally got the necessary forms
sorted out & returned home tired but triumphant.
Le-Le was a real darling throughout; never made a sound just played by herself
at the backseat of the car on the way home. I was so pleased with myself that I
managed to beat the traffic crawl by 30 minutes. Pulled into the driveway;
opened the door to pick up the form & my dog.
And found the precious import license form in shreds.
Lesson 1: NEVER bring a dog to a Malaysian government building.
Lesson 2: NEVER put any documentation anywhere near a semi-intelligent mammal
with teeth.
Lesson 3: If your dog is being suspiciously good in the backseat of your car,
CHECK!
I yelled at the bedroom wall for another 2 minutes, knowing that Mei Mei’s gonna
call tonight & I’ll have to explain yet again, WHY I haven’t got Sammy’s
license sorted out after so long. This time I’ll have an excellent reason and
I’d probably be one of the few who can claim this excuse for the truth:
“THE DOG ATE YOUR IMPORT LICENCE!”
Running the Roman Empire was never that difficult.
Rant finished.
Signing off,
Calpurnia (& Sasha the Laptop)
An adorable penpal of mine recently reminded me that February is the month of LURVE. I have to say that was just one more reminder in addition to the thousands of commercial banners, ads, subliminal marketing strategies, heartshaped cookies dancing in store windows, love song requests on the radio & the abundance of weird pick-up lines from married old men. Who could possibly forget?
I'd say February's more like the month for commercial excess by love-struck schoolboys & their prepubescent paramours. NOT to say I don't adore roses and creamy white calla lilies *hint to readers ahem*...but for a true romantic like meself, every month of the year is the month of love. And while romantic candlelit dinners, bunches of lilies & a gorgeous atmosphere's all very lovely to have, I happen to think mature romance doesn't require an overdraft to create. Smart, savvy girls know that when one man's heart is stripped bare & laid upon your feet, & comes attached with all sorts of designer labels called "Commitment", "Devotion", "Passion", "Honesty", "Discipline", "Selflessness" & "Endurance", it is a far grander gift than many tiny hearts made out of the finest Belgian chocolate, or roses that will bloom today & wilt in the heat of adversity. 
Now diamonds however....Just kidding. :)
Not to seem completely impervious to the hype surrounding V-Day; I must confess to going rosy when someone presents a pretty posy at any time. Then again, there is something about February 14 that makes you feel a tiny bit like a loser when you DON'T get a special delivery. That used to bug me a little when I was a teen. Until I found a way to beat the single blues.
It was about a decade ago & years before I thought I was ready to start dating. I thought back to all the people who love me most; my parents & a few others whose lives impacted mine in some way. Then, I thought about the meaning of love, my own expectations & aspirations. That's when I decided to take out a pen & a scented sh
eet to create a Valentine for the ultimate Lover.
I'm not sure what I'll do with that letter now. I keep it in a special folder because it reminds me not to lose perspective in a world full of superficiality, fastfood-type love, supersized romantic imagery but very little substance. See, I've been saved, rescued, renewed, set apart, set free, set to zero, set on fire, beautified, purified, sanctified, commissioned with a divine purpose...Forgiven. Now that's love. 
So be ready on February 14 guys; I'll be debuting the ol' love letter I wrote a decade ago, in honour of the global celebration of mushy young love!
SIGNING OFF,
CALPURNIA, Beloved
