It's been a while since I last needed a bag of chili potato chips. I want to drive out all the way to the only place in the country that sells my favourite brand of potato chips and probably throw in some sneakers bars and popcorn flavoured jelly beans with a basket full of kinder surprise eggs – the original one.
But I don't have a car. And I don't have a license.
The worst thing is, I don't even have my own place.
I can't even kick my socks off and slouch in front of the tv while drowning myself in calories and getting high on sugar with a couple of friends who aren't afraid to let themselves go when it comes to the waistline even if I had the means to go out and get my favourite junk food.
My parents would give me the look. The look, I tell you, will haunt you for the rest of the week and simultaneously destroy 2 weekends.
There are tons of things flashing through my mind of things I don't like, of things I wish were different and of things I wish would simply disappear with the help of divine intervention.
But it is not to be.
So I'd rather dream of things I can do to make it better. Things like driving to the riverside and surprising my hubba with all his favourite things – which happens to be food. Things like drowning the despicable specimen of a man in a pool of lemon flavoured chilli dipped fiery weathered knife edged hell for making my hubba upset. Things like packing the few bags of valuables I have and selling them to buy a place at the corners of the world where my neighbours are Jack and Sally and the Lilo and Stitch, where the place is governed by the Carebears and I am good friends with Johnny Depp, Drew Barrymore and Christian Bale, who would come over and play xbox with me.
Before I get philosophical and quote Yeats, I better store these dreams into a bottle and only take a peek into it whenever my bag of chilli potato chips is not available.
I checked the fridge and the only therapy food l
Now, it is time for me to take that bottle of lemon flavoured chilli dipped sauce of hell with the voodoo doll of Mr Despicable inside it (not Steve Carell, I love Steve Carell. I should add him as my neighbour in my dream.) for a spin in the washing machine.
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