(mug from Nice, France)
every mug souvenir for me is like a jewel.
i love collecting them. everytime i go to other cities/towns/places/countries, i don’t miss searching/buying for a mug, aside from postcards or t-shirt.
i arrived home one night and my son told me, “Mamma…your mug is broken.”..
i guess my heart beat faster and my blood pressure raised!
“who f@(£*§?!…” did this?”
Jaki: “it’s zendra’s fault… i saw her climbing by the toy box and accidentally hold into the mug and she fell down.”
Jaki: “Mamma, don’t worry, i picked all the pieces and got my scotch tape, then put them together.”
it was incomplete though, but i guess my son is intelligent enough to do that.
the question was: who’s looking at my kids? or where?
it’s not Jaki’s nor Zendra’s fault.
But, since i cannot complain i threw my rants to the wind.
I look stupid murmuring/shouting silently (how did i do that?) —%@è§**@——
i am angry….hell angry…
..not just because of the precious mug broken, but the risk of my kids, knowing that i was at work and expecting people in the house to at least look at my kids when my husband and i were still out.
what if it’s not the mug? what if, it’s a mirror or a glass?
———-i don’t want to think about it——-
the hardest thing to do is to “feel comfortable or confident” to some people you think are helping.
i could have said more here of what i said last wednesday…
but, i will stick to the “general patronage” blog rating of mine. =)