I detest the pivotal moment of crossing over the threshold into adulthood, or rather, auntyhood. With Chinese New Year looming up just around the corner and KC's incessant pestering about my not-so-presentable wardrobe contents; I tagged along dutifully behind KC into the mall. And discovered the joy of swooshing someone else's card to get clothes for myself. The thrill of not having to feel the cash leave my hands and watch my wallet size dwindle almost had me grabbing clothes from their hangers and march right up to the cashier in a trance.
Then the not-so-fun part began.
Traipsing into the supermarket section, I received a text message from Cindy (cousin) asking if I'm getting anything for Popo (grandma) for Chinese New Year. KC promptly snatched the opportunity to unleash a 10-minute lecture about how I'm getting older and should act more proper and adultlike, which, translated into layman terms, means buying overpriced unnecessary exotic foodstuff for the older generation of relatives whom I'm going to meet during Chinese New Year who probably have tons of such foodstuff already and would just cluck at my exorbitant spending habits and proceed to stash the goodies away for private consumption much later while dismissing me with an oozing-with-insincerity "oh you shouldn't have" then return to gossiping with other older generation of relatives about how un-filial whose and whose children are for not buying them anything for Chinese New Year. And the scariest part is, once I start this terrifying annual cycle of buying inflated gifts... I'm not allowed to stop. Ever.
I don't want to step into auntyhood so soon! Gaaaaaaah!
I bought a nicely-packaged nifty abalone and pacific clam canned set for Popo. Then I imagined Dad throwing a tantrum at me for not getting his mother anything. And I took another set reluctantly. Then I thought "Like hell am I going to spend hundreds on these babies and not even get a chance to taste what they're like" and promptly grabbed another set from the shelf. It's high time I fulfill my filial duties towards my parents anyways, right?
post script: I did my maths later last night to come up with how much I need to pay KC back for the reckless shopping spree... and my calculator overheated and exploded, its red-hot battery shooting out and punched a hole through my heart right out of my back. With blood splattering down my torso, I weakly text-messaged my company's account personnel to just put KC's name on my next paycheck.
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