Of burning ovaries and parking spaces

I suppose I should shed some light on various comments Katticus decided to make in her failure to blog (Honey, I'll teach you how to blog tomorrow. You posted in the comments section -.-) and elaborate. Curse you, fascist soapie. I demand you release your stranglehold on my G Family. I will never succumb to your brainwashing! Yes, Home and Away, I'm talking to you. Addressing mediums of communication is one step up from inanimate objects—be proud, kids, I'm making baby steps. Although, apparently it could be a Chinese thing? That Chinese gymnast with the pummel horse was fantastic! He'll make a good father, which is a good thing, since he is getting married soon. That's alright though, I hedged on that trampoline guy. Too bad I don't know his name—oh yeah, or the language. That's also a bummer... Soon my pretty!

I digress.

Kat and I spent the afternoon discussing sati—for those of you not aware, this is an Indian tradition (now outlawed) of widow burning. (That is, after we poached (word of the day!) ourselves a table. Afternoon is like constant peak hour in UTS library. In fact, one could say it's worse than finding a car space, since it's normal to stand your ground in waiting for a table—plus one has indicators! One does not have indicators, or a justifiable reason to prowl around a table, waiting for its very slow occupants to vacate. One, or rather, two, simply look weird.) We made good headway, since we make good little Asian nerds, and managed to scare at least a couple of people. Represent, right?

The conversation went off topic, as it tends to do, and began to incorporate notions such as 'burning ovaries' that spontaneously combust as a result of inherent goodness, preferably chastity, or rather, fidelity because everyone knows college boys and above demand 'it'.

Then there was the discussion as to whether life was worth living if one was forced to be chaste after one's husband and/or True Love passes on—since fidelity was demanded, and obviously necrophilia is not only a no-go, but undesirable. We really started to entertain the possibility of heating up and spontaneously combusting as belief curtailed, since we so succinctly agreed, 'everyone has urges'. Hence, the burning ovaries. And the perplexed, or rather, intimidated looking Asian boys—the reason why I headed home straight after, and Kat took on the stairs. Yes, we're traditionalists—we try to save face.

That and it's almost impossible to find another parking space.

—Samme