I was up early to make her chicken ham and cheese sandwiches. She was aghast when she saw them.
"Coach does not allow us to eat bread!" she wailed, "She said she doesn't want to see anyone having bread..."
It was rather early still and the sleep-deprived me found it impossible to be in a pleasant mood.
"That is just plain ridiculous. If she wouldn't let you to eat, ask her to call me. Give her my phone number."
At 1pm, my mobile rang and I saw the coach's name flashing on the screen. My first thought was - that silly girl actually told the coach to call me? She actually did? So, what should I say regarding the no-eating-bread issue? Ought I be blunt and tell her what I really thought? I won't be polite.
I answered the call. A frantic little voice greeted me. It wasn't the coach.
"Coach said I have to have my costume."
"The pink shirt."
"Where is it?"
"I think it is on the couch..."
Well, yea, it should be on the couch for I remember having had it in the laundry, and they're all still scattered on the couch because I hadn't the time to fold and put them away. I assured her I would bring it to her, and that she should wait for me at the guardhouse.
I found the shirt and rushed out. It was the time of very heavy traffic in the area. Cars were parked and double-parked along the roads, halted at box junctions, trying to squeeze through the tiniest spaces - it was horrible. Some were going in the opposite direction from those of the arrows painted on the road. It was horrible.
I hate traffic congestions just as much as I hate crowds, and normally, I would be extremely irritated that I had to be caught in the midst of one, simply because someone forgot her costume! Normally. I quite surprised myself for being calm - I even chuckled at the thought of how mad my mother would possibly be, had it been her in my shoes then.
It took some effort to get through the horrendous stretch but I got there, at long last. I saw her, sitting on a bench looking small and forlorn, eyes anxiously searching for me. When she finally caught sight of me, she jumped up and ran towards the car. As she got nearer, I saw that her face was tear-streaked. She opened the door on the passenger side and flung herself in, into my embrace. She was sobbing audibly and tears were fast trickling down her flushed cheeks.
I felt so amused. There I was, arrived safely - despite having taken longer than the journey should be - with the shirt she needed, and she had to cry! I knew it wasn't for joy - perhaps she thought I would scold, and so, got the tears ready to counter that. I wanted so much to kiss her, but she was all sweaty and stinking... oh, well.
Perhaps I will scold the next time this happens.