I HAVE a new self-appointed soul therapist, Juggi, who has offered to listen to my rants over chicken soup, this week. He comes with a good dose of humour, too. I went on a diatribe over this and that and more inconsequential stuff and this was the great one’s retort,” Hey , don’t split hairs when all you need is a perm!” He has offered to use voodoo on anyone who messes with me. I suggested we go for the voicebox of this one person I know who won’t shutup. “That’s too extreme. How about a bout of loosies? ” he suggested, benevolence shining through.
Smiles.
Voodoo’s a joke, people.
