Over lunch the other day we were laughing about how one of my friends got the date for meeting her friend at the train station wrong, which resulted in her friend going all the way to Paris and then back again.
Today wasn't as disastrous as that, but I did mess up. I can hear my mum's 'Aiyo!' echoing in my head. Daniel called me. Looking at the '+65' number that flashed on my handphone I thought he was calling to tell me they were about to board their 13-hour flight to London, and I also thought, 'Oh, how considerate!'
I answered with a cheerful 'hello' and then my stomach dropped straight through Australia.
'We just landed at the airport, we're going to take a train there, so we'll call you when we get to Gloucester road?'
'But today isn't Saturday.'
'No, I never said it was Saturday...'
'I thought you guys were arriving on the 3rd! Saturday!'
'Um, we're at the airport now. So we're going to take the train in, right?'
'Oh right, Gloucester Road, okay. Picadilly all the way, no changes. Yep. Okay. See you soon.'
Crap. (There were more suitable words that crossed my mind in that instant.)
That two minute phone call was followed by 45 minutes of hardcore bathroom and room cleaning. Weng and I set a new record today, especially given that I hadn't cleaned either area for almost two months - exams, projects, you know how it never ends.
Thankfully God saw Daniel and Doris safely to London, looking pretty good considering they had just flown half way around the world. They also made it to 10.30pm, although it was getting pretty hairy on the way back from the supermarket - I thought we might have had to carry them home. But they're safely in bed. A clean, comfortable one at that.
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