In Viet Nam, I got a manicure, my first ever. My fat, stubby fingers with the ragged nails are not something I've been interested in pampering, but why not? For three bucks (four with polish, evidently, five with a generous tip), why not indeed.

There is a lot of solitary time in a manicure, soaking and drying. There is a fine line between relaxing and depression when you are half way around the world, alone in the company of a thousand, in a country which tugs at your conscience and memory. Who knew a manicure could be so powerful a thing?
On to Singapore, where I found a street artist offering henna tattoos. "Trust me," he said. "I am the best. I do all these free hand!" I have had bad experiences with "Trust me." His photo album was impressive, but he makes no money from the lookers, only from the ones who do, ultimately, trust him. We negotiated a little on the size and style and he did a beautiful job.
Trusting was the easy part. Keeping my left wrist from bending, and my arm from being bumped in the crowds of Chinatown was a challenge. Using only my right hand the rest of the afternoon was a challenge. I found some bargains worth pulling out my stash of USD for, which meant going into the bottom of my pack and going into the hidden zippered places of my wallet. I found pictures worth taking one handed. I found a 7-11 with Slurpees! (Asia is full of 7-11s, but this is the only one I saw with Slurpees.
Back on the ship, I put the hem on my new skirt. I sewed every stitch by hand, including overcasting the (6) seams so they won't fray. No pattern. There's a pocket inside to hold my passport. I used my "graduate" scissors from the office. Ideal for moms. We don't let Jim use them. He has to use the boy scissors.
Handwork score card


Skirt: I like the skirt. A pattern would have helped, as would a measuring tape, room to lay out the fabric, and an iron. Although it goes with all the t-shirts I brought, I reserve the right to cut it up for a shirt once I get home to my seven sewing machines. Trying new things doesn't mean I can't go back to the old me.
It was so nice to see your arm. Even with a tattoo I recognized that familiar part of my missing friend! Cute picture of you in your new skirt. I'm proud of your resourcefulness. Looks like you inventively worked your way through the relaxing vs depression.
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