Don't anjat please.
This is not a momok. This is not a person pretending to be a momok. This is not an enlarged image of a man-eating virus. This is not a virus-eating man. This is not anyone's peeled-off skin. This not anyone's face. This is not even my face (believe it or not!!).
This is just.......
.....these. The savaged and ravaged pair of mahal Hanes support stockings I always use for flights.
Yes, mahal ah! One pair comes to about $20 and compared to the cheap tak-support-langsong kinds that go for ten bucks per five, that's mahal can?! But I dismiss the cost as I really depend on them as they save me from all the physical perils that come with the occupational requirements of walking too much (passenger pressure!) and bloating too quickly (cabin pressure!). So since it is so mahal, I treat my weekly pair like woven gold after each flight. Yes, weekly because for ganas and gangster-type stewardesses like me, who always langgar-sana-langgar-sini, these "top-notch" and "long-lasting" hosiery usually last for only a week or two max before giving in to a rabak "ladder" on the knee/calf/shin/butt/perot areas. But before each of my stockings die their natural "ladder" death, my precious woven gold gets soaked in warm, soapy water and hung out to dry as soon as I've checked in and settled down in my hotel room. By the time I was supposed to get ready for my return flight the next two days or so, they're dry, clean and sweet-smelling (I swear!).
This time, my stockings died an unnatural death. This time, for the first time, I forgot about the immediate stocking soaking. I was preoccupied with something else in Jo'burg so by the time I was supposed to get ready to return to Dubai, my stockings were in a sad little pile by the cheesy armchair with germs, worms and whatnots from the incoming flight probably having a procreating party between its creased folds.
( No, the brutal holes you see were not caused by the aforementioned germs and worms. Let me habiskan cerita, can?!)
Now, my willfull anal-retentiveness prevents me from just using the stockings, germs and all. In a parallel universe, where Raihan the Pengotor would exist, I'd heck it and kebas-kebas them stockings against the armchair for a bit (so all the germs would lose their grip and fall off, right?) before proceeding to put it on. But Raihan the Anal rules now so I immediately hastened to soak and soap them stockings up real good. The only problem was, I had less than two hours for them to dry till I had to check-out.
So Raihan the Memandai laid said wet stockings out nicely on top of this.
This lamp very hot so can dry wet stockings chop chop maah! And so Raihan the ActionTerror continued watching Little Black Book on Jo'burg's MovieMagic, while waiting for stockings to dry.
Four slow minutes later, the air was filled with the sweet burning smell of Raihan The Bodoh's pair of mahal stockings. If I was not filled with growing horror, I'd probably get blissfully high on the fumes coming off the chemical make-up of my burning stockings.
Speed nor shock saved my stockings that day. I clambered unto the armchair to retrieve my little combustion. They were gone. I was Hanesless.
Eventually, I did my return flight in cheap knee-highs I got from the nearest mart and felt like a part-time budget stripper because throughout the flight, the bands of my knee-highs kept sliding down little by little, exposing bits and pieces of my kaki from the bottoms of my skirt.
But hey, gimme some credit......it did dry wet stockings chop chop, y'all!
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