Fats

I'm a big girl. And I'll quite sensitive to stuffiness and warmth.

Why are these 2 linked?
Because all the girls in the office will be swaddled in their cardis and shawls and shivering in their panties. And me? I'll have my hair all bunned up and fanning myself with my papers. Hot.

People will, on occasion, ask as they walk by Aren't you cold? with that look of awe in their eyes. My standard reply is Nope. I'm feeling quite hot, actually. Can't you see all my extra insulation material? and they'll walk away laughing.

This is trivial. Mundane. Not worthy of blogging by itself. But I seriously don't think it's my fats that are keeping me warm. Why? Because this girl in the office, who is twice my size, and whose hips' elevation changes drastically as she walks by with every jiggle, has just popped by to ask the very same thing.

Sometimes I wonder why it is that, having been born into a family that is 6 generations of entrenchment in the tropics, and having lived my entire life in bloody Singapore, I am still affected by humidity? It's never the heat. I can sit out in the sun quite happily if there's a breeze blowing.

But take away the wind? Heh. I can stand in my dim bedroom on a rainy day, dripping wet after a shower, stark nekked, and I'll perspire if there's no airflow. It's that bad.


So what's a girl to do, eh?