"I don't feel good," she told me this last Monday.

I know that she was coming down with something that morning and so I advised her to rest the whole day. But, darn it. Reverse psych works on her. So she took off that day. An hour after the 2-5 PM lecture started, she texted. She wasn't feeling good.

Now why wasn't I surprised? Nevertheless, I began to seriously worry. So, she promised to go home early.

And so she napped like a cat for half an hour during the lecture. When she woke up, she turned to her Ipod, played it and began studying on her own. Good thing she was seated at the back.

She did go home right after the 5-7 PM lecture. Usually, she would still stay out and study some more with her classmates either in the library or some joint in Powerplant. That night, she decided that she had enough bearing the muscle pains.

Yesterday she finally heeded my call to simply stay at home and rest. She didn't even give me a hard time convincing her other than raising an objection twice.

"Sayang ang lecture today," she'd aim. This week, it's Civil Law and Taxation, the latter ranking second (and the last?) in her waterloo list.

"It's either you attend all your lectures this week and be sick on Sunday, or you stay home today, sacrifice the day's lecture and not miss the exam this weekend," I warned.

"You're mean. Don't say that," she knocked as if I imparted some voodoo spell.

And so she was reacquainted with being sick. The last time she was ill was June. Anyway, every fours hours or so, we would check on her temperature.

Turns out she had a clogged nose.

The only leisure she had yesterday had been an hour's flee from her home. She picked up the laundry, went to the mall, spent on drinks, paid her bills and bagged herself a big headache. Kulit eh.

Today she's back in school, this time, with a running nose. Hopefully she'd get better before bloody Sunday makes a comeback. She might wet her booklet with mucus droplets, causing the ink from her gel pen to blot. And smeared answers are not good.

* * *
While finishing breakfast at Pancake House today...

ME: Reverse psychology works on you.
ROSA: Of course, not.
ME: Of course, yes.
ROSA: Do you think I need more food?
ME: Ha?
ROSA: They took na kasi my plate.
ME: Ahm...yes.

She becomes silent.

ME: Hey.
ROSA: Yes?
ME: So what are you going to do about it? I said yes.
ROSA: No na. Am busog na eh.
ME: There you go! That's exactly my point!
ROSA: Wha-? Ha? Oh... Hahaha!

What is the Errand Boy?

"It's a service that will provide you with everything you need 24 hours a day. So it's basically another person who will act on your behalf. For example, you need to pick up your dry cleaning or bring your laundry, the Errand Boy will do it for you. Or if you are in a meeting and you need to pay your bills, the Errand Boy will go to the billing place for you. Or if someone has to stay in the house to wait for delivery of a parcel, and you don't have a maid or someone, so the Errand Boy will do that," she explained while maneuvering the 7:30 PM traffic along NAIA Avenue.

Three years ago, she had difficulty picking up her dry cleaning because law school ends at 9 PM. By the time she was free to collect her stuff, the laundry shop had closed.

This morning, she coined her novelty as Rent-A-beep, the beep being by my name. In other words, the idea is to create an aliping sagigilid for rent.

I'm just a guy who happens to take responsibility on behalf of a best bud whose career as a counsel is about to take off. However, should she turn forty and ambitious in business, I expect to earn extra from her raket as the first employee.

What if she establishes this type of service?

I can only imagine that some dude customer walks in. He feels like surprising his gf with a little domestic help so he pays up. Dude customer hands me a spare key so I could enter unnoticed and take gf's laundry to the nearest Lavandero. I arrive to perform the job stealthily until gf catches my hand dipped in her hamper. And the first thing that gf does is a what-are-you-doing-in-my-apartment shriek. The last thing I hear before getting knocked out is that of a flower vase smashed into smithereens.

Man, she should provide insurance.

Incidentally, Vans Jamora, an interior designer consultant, recently opened Rent-A-Husband. Before you, ladies, arch your eyebrows let me clarify. Rent-A-Husband is not an escort service but rather one that pimps a handyman to do tasks from changing a doorknob to fixing a leak in the roof.

Now, if only to scrape the supreme barrel of impure thoughts, I'd say go in style and set up Rent-A-Eunuch. First 100 customers will have continental breakfast in bed, our treat. Oh, and sure-why-not, our eunuchs will do repairs. Replacement of screws is on the house.

The choice of using quality ingredients initiates the making of the breakfast of champions for Examinee No. 5469: potato, two small ripe tomatoes, clove of garlic, half of one large white onion and a can of Purefoods corned beef.

She enjoys it soupy so I add little amounts of water while everything is being sauteed on my pet frying pan, a good buy from a highway peddler in San Pablo, Laguna a couple of years back.

The mysterious ingredient, however, is a dash of prayer that I mumble before the first ingredient goes under my favorite Japanese kitchen knife.

And so, this will be her sunup feast for the next four Sundays of the month - corned beef - and OJ to assuage the AM tension.

For her lunch, she will have the homemade ham and cheese with sliced apples sandwich as requested. This food will spawn all the essential positive energy she'll need to seize the rest of the day.

Tomorrow when I wake up, it will be like attending the Simbang Gabi. I will have to come around with the poultry, cram all the edible provisions in a paper bag and hop to her hotel.

Wow. I feel like a parent. Let me accentuate a bit. I experience the confidence of a parent who senses that his kid will be one of the first pass the post.

Yes, I've heard the cliche: Passing is 99% perspiration and 1% luck. But to me, there is no luck, only prayer. And for the past weeks, I've been supersizing my "amen."

Call it bar ops to the heavens.

This is so extra-terrestrial. The bugging started late last night and persisted until this morning.

"Start posting," she demanded impatiently.

Just like you, I have no idea as to why she picked me to blog on her behalf. I mean, of all people why choose someone who's not into jimmy choos or anything pink? Take my word for it. I never fantasized about her in this approach.

So, yeah, her turf is wide open. I've got the keys to her house but only because we've become intimate on a certain level to make me her aliping sagigilid.

Cue in mental processing...

I could be the mischievous caretaker and impulsively alter the dominant color from pink to blue. Or amend her blog name into a single word that is well-nigh symmetrical - realism. Or upload a new skin that would reflect my semi-sasquatch behavior.

But let's not explore the possibility on the drastic/bold changes I might dreadfully decide on. In the first place, I won't make the hassle. I'll try to keep the peace in here.

Lest she gripes that she, alas, gave the privilege to the wrong person, I will be a good guest. Plus the fact that there's immense pressure when she commissioned almost everyone to email her once I've overstepped. (FYI. There's no rule on emailing her just to shout out that I am aptly entertaining you while she's "clearing" the bar.)

Thus, there won't be any Chippendale look-alike photos posted, even if you put your soul on the market to the pitchfork guy. I won't even light my Marlboro green while blogging because she doesn't smoke. I will categorically not flirt with women who are, in my regard, God's gift to men. And, sure, I will update you on how she is doing - a discreet attempt to stalk and film her panic attacks in compassionate words.

Scout's honor.

dear reader,

as i've said in the last post, it's september and since
september = bar;
and bar = no life;
and no life = no blogging,

i decided to do something crazy.

i asked an old friend to be my ghost writer.

he told me to tell you only good things about him, like how he's god's gift to women. but, see, since i've never lied in my blog, i just can't say that.

all i can say is that he writes well, and he has a following.

and i trust him. i trust that he won't link to porn, or would write things that would drive my readers away. while he won't write about shoes and bags and all things nice and girly and so rosa-ish, i know he'd keep this blog interesting enough for you to keep coming back as you always have in the past.

and oh, i trust that he won't flirt with the girls on my blog.

so, enjoy the month that he'd be here. it'll be cool, i promise.

heart,

rosa

p.s. and if he's violated any of the rules abovementioned, tell me.