Taters Alert
A Potato Cornerjust opened at the gate of our village, next to the tricycle terminal, thus posing yet another tactical threat to my eternal battle of the bulge.
I was informed of its official opening by Sarah, who so enthusiastically texted me "POTATO CORNER!!!" (verbatim). Taken aback, I replied with a perfunctory "Thank you," lest she mistake an "Okay" for an agreement to bring home some fries (I'm a natural cheapskate currently on a self-imposed austerity program).
I decided to skip the temptation to gorge on flavored French fries by physically avoiding the side street where the said Potato Corner stall was located, and proceeding to take main village avenue and embark on the 20-minute trek home. Two birds with one stone: I managed to avoid the stall (literally) and give myself some benefit of exercise. No matter how short it was.
Walking through my village at night is a cross between suburban bliss and tension. On one hand, you have warmly-lit streetcorners, homes buzzing with the comforting din of air conditioners, and nocturnal joggers.
And then you have the electric fences and rember how the homeowners association Facebook page is regularly updated with rich-looking houses being robbed almost weekly. Um, okay. Thank God we have none of those problems, TBH.