Questa è Enida

Charge me. Go ahead. Go ahead and charge me. I am guilty. I admit my indecency.

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It has been going on for a while now. Two, maybe three weeks. And I… I can’t contain it any longer. I can’t bear the the burden of not telling anyone about it anymore. Three weeks may be short for some, but it’s too long for my cheating heart to stand the pretense.

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I don’t know why I am pouring it out on this blog. Perhaps I am most honest in my writing. All I am asking for now, since you are reading… is your understanding that I am just a human. And oh, I could not resist the temptation.

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With this, I confess, that I have been cheating on my husband. The last three weeks I’ve been hanging my bra on another man’s hanger! Yes, I have. It is my bra. And it is his hanger. He designed it. That’s what he does. He designs. And it was this entry that started our hanging affair. Between Oklahoma City and Moscow.

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This other man and I have been having two or three emails going back and forth between us, discussing what to do with his hangers and my bras – in a secrecy that we both understand even in silence, even from a distance. I think he’s the man for me bras.

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To Jimmy (not his actual name), please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean to hang my dirty laundry bra on your hanger here for the whole world to see. But I am so excited! And I think I like it, I like it! I’m about to lose control here.

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When you do get the design patented and commercially manufactured in the states, please don’t forget to send me a box of 25 hangers. I’ve just spent hours visiting Victoria Secret in Stockholm and bought 75 new imaginary bras to keep us ‘hanging on’.

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Oh Jimmy Asmaraku, what a movie!

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Postlude:

25 of Jimmy’s bra hangers will hang 100 bras and will keep a boob job a no-job. I like it, Jimmy. I like it!

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Glossary for Jimmy:

curang = unfaithful

(Bahasa Malaysia is my mother tongue.)

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