Mengreadykan rumah untuk dihuni is not an easy job. Blimey! Soooo many things to handle in soooo lil time. To be frank, I do it for the fun of doin it! Papepon at least ade jugak progress kan. For the time being, we've got our false ceiling, fans, lights, grills, curtains, curtain rods & railings covered. In a word, all the neccessary stuffs for it to be called a home was successfully taken care of. If everything went well the way we planned it, we could actually move in to our new sanctuary right before Ramadhan. Since our (hubs n me) focus is now directed to beautify our home, I mean just to make it as decent as possible, we are forced to be tightwads, positive tightwads shall I clarify, in so many ways. That's the fugly truth when I cannot financially contribute to this money-consuming event of my life. Sheesh. Takpe la...Things will get better, things will be better after this. I constantly remind myself of this non-enchanted mantra altho in reality they will not!
Tight budgetry constraint does not mean that we should say no to having fun, rite? We did have fun celebrating a combo celebration of our 3rd anniversary and mother's day all together. We spent our quality time together at Ben's KLCC, nothing fancy and no splurging! Oh yeah, here's a poem, sonnet 130 to be exact. Had it not been that this poem is dedicated to a lady, it would make a great poem to describe my realness in loving you, my man.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
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