thai food at the wick inn

A week ago, I came back home to find a note from D that he had gone for Tai Chi. Interesting, I thought. I realised that my fingerless lace gloves had arrived in the post, in my attempt to replace all the four pairs of gloves that mysteriously 'disappeared' from my carefully-packed possessions* in my dorm room. So I decided to meet him for drinks and dinner, changed my outfit to one more befitting of the gloves** and put on my Icarus Grew Oriental Wings top, slicked on some red lipstick, dramatised the black liquid eyeliner and the appropriate accouterments-- a ring with a burst of pearls and another sheer red fabric rose one, both from Diva, and bronze chandelier earrings from Forever 21. I also threw on my gold Bebe brocade coat and a Dior handbag with pretty embroidery, feeling in my element. As I walked there, I kept texting him to order wedges-- my pub staple-- fantasising about warm hearty and slightly spicy potato chunks I would anoint with vinegar and pepper, but he kept telling me to be patient. For what? I wondered. And then as I walked into the charming old pub The Wick Inn, with a gleeful smile did he hand over the Thai Menu to me. And all cravings of wedges shimmered out of the many windows in the establishment. .

*Because you don't screw with the memory of an elephant, much less a photographic one. Alas, how is one to raise a case that 'four pairs of gloves and two letters were selectively stolen from my room?'
** You know how you might have no sense of delayed gratification and must wear new stuff now?

a page torn from the risque lacey fall/winter diary

it ain't just me that is the peacock