It’s been a girly week. Curly and R, who I’ve known since school and college, were in town and since I am suddenly single again, all of us shacked up in Curly’s cousins larger and more centrally located house. It was like one big sleepover every night. The four of us would clamber into a room dominated by beds and mattresses with the spoils of the day’s shopping scattered along the fringes and chatter till the wee hours, sometimes pausing for coffee. Apart from reminiscing on school days and how we met our boyfriends/husbands, the conversational high points were:

1) How HK is a nutjob magnet. Curly’s cousins friends seem to be a menagerie of lunatics. She was most unimpressed by our tales of a lone wacky friend. I realised that many of my friends out here – not the Indian ones – are borderline nuts. My view is that the city unhinges people, Curly’s cousin’s contention is that these people were nuts before they arrived. Which is even more scary because it seems HK draws the nuts of the world.

2) Curly has concluded that I am nuts too. Shifting our weight around as we stood in the interminable line for the Peak Tram Curly snapped a photo of me reading. I was horrified at my double chin, which when identified to be on the side I dubbed by ‘waddle’. Curly says on the way to becoming one of the plastic surgery nutjobs.

3) The rant on religion and abortion. Note to self: steer clear of such topics.

4) The giggling fit yesterday over the domestic incompetence of Curly’s cousins husband and other stories.

At one point as we were sitting around chatting in the afternoon, Curly’s niece came in and sat with us. It reminded me of SATC and the sharing sessions with Charlotte’s baby in tow. Hmm, if we had to cast ourselves, who would be who?