Little Miss Wobbly

I went for my morning run today, six painful kilometres around Marina Bay. I was up so early that the Merlion wasn't vomitting water into the bay. That's a rare occurrence, given how industrious the Merlion is. In fact, most Singaporeans believe that if the Merlion ever stops gobbing water, then the island will sink into the sea, just like if the ravens leave the Tower of London it will crumble.

Thus though I have seen this with my own eyes, no one will ever believe me. It will be a myth to terrify disobedient children who don't go to sleep on time.

The other thing I saw, which I reliably see at least once every time I go for a run in the morning, was Little Miss Wobbly. Little Miss Wobbly is a Chinese woman of indeterminate age, who always wears a white baseball cap and a red t-shirt, and no sports bra.

She's also equally cursed and blessed with a big rack, which means that whenever I see her running around the bay, those two appendages threaten to hit her in the face. Not that I look: I'm a gentleman, after all, and married. Manners dictate that I cannot approach a woman I don't know, particularly when I'm dripping with sweat and only wearing shorts and a scrap of technical fabric, and give her advise about underwear.

My only hope, in my quest to prevent her from long term soft tissue damage, is that she'll one day happen upon this blog post, and realising that it's neither safe nor normal to make her breasts bounce around so violently, purchase a suitable sports bra.

Although it's a forlorn hope: after what I've written about the Merlion in my first paragraph, who would believe anything I have to say?