Frou Frou where are you?

I miss The Frou. The last time we met was a brief soiree at the climb gym on Saturday where we just grunted at each other and popped off the wall.

Friendship is a funny thing. The fair-weathered friends come and go. Others have no choice but to stay in the friendship because they need to hang around to scrape my body off the tarmac. To the ones who stick around, thank you for listening to me gripe even while at work, answering distress calls at all times of the day, watching me bawl into my food and meeting me at the most unglamourous places like the parking lot at Holland Village.

As I am typing this, I am scrutinising my hands. My hands look terribly battered. I scraped the back of my hand a few weeks back while climbing and the wound simply refuses to heal. It just keeps on scabbing. The veins are also very pronounced today. Ugliness. I need to take up something demure – like knitting. The climbing is no good for the beautification purposes.