kar·ma /ˈkärmə/
1. (in Hinduism and Buddhism) The sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in…
2. Destiny or fate, following as effect from cause.

When I closed the door on my kids’ face to rush to some networking drinks, I had a weird feeling in my stomach. Was it because I had caught P’s cold by nursing her all day? Was it because I was having butterflies thinking of meeting up with successful ladies in a swanky bar? Was it just because my high heeled mint pumps were already hurting? Or was it because I fled the chaos of my home and 3 crying babies and that deep inside, I knew I was going to pay for this.

It was my first group networking drinks in New York. Pre-New York me would have been absolutely irked by such an idea. New York me realized that it is the only way you get anything done over here or at least it is the only way to get a job. Here is how it worked for me. Successful Lady A (SLA) and I get hooked up via Facebook thanks to my friend and a friend of SLA.  We talk, hit it off, and she introduces me to Successful Lady B (SLB) during a charity gala. A few months later, SLA decides to get SLB, Successful Lady C  (SLC) and a certain Redlipstickmama together to discuss about our past, present and future and see where chemistry can lead us. So here I was sipping Rose wine on a roof terrace bar by a pool in the middle of the Meatpacking district trying to figure out my career, getting tips on how to take over the world and occasionally getting compliments on my earrings and pumps. It was absolutely surreal and weirdly enough, not weird at all. Have I become the consummate New York gal? I always believed that if you always treat others gracefully; one day you would reap some fruits. And if you are lucky enough, they won’t all smell like Durian fruit (South East Asian fruit that smells like a gas leak or rotten egg).

Anyway, after 3  hours floating on my little ‘I am Successful Lady D’ cloud (can you hear Beyonce’s ‘(Girls) run the world’ Anthem? Can you hear it?), I got home and that’s when the shit hit the fan. L woke up at 3am; I took him onto the couch and the ‘Karma-Sutra’ lesson started, below a quick selection of the Classic positions:

 The Flying Angel

L rolled across my chest and projected himself over the couch. I groggily caught him with one arm which he then used a hammock. One word: cramps.

The Blood Sucking Bite

L decided that teething rings were lame and started to bite and pull every single piece of skin, cartilage and fat hanging out from my body (double chin, extra tummy, nose etc.).  And to finish me off, he went for the kill: the flabby ‘chicken wings’ arms.

The Neck-cracker 

L twisted my neck with his big thighs. This boy is strong. Seriously, I swear I heard a crack. I usually like Thai massage because the masseuses crack all your knuckles and vertebrea but when it is done by a chubby Chucky doll at 4am, it is traumatic.

The Shaolin Soccer Free Kick

Mama’s  head = leather soccer ball. No further explanation needed.

Yes, L acted as he was on a mission to make me feel the wrath of the abandoned tot.  Or at least, that’s what working Redlipstickmama started to think. I thought: ‘Am I guilt-tripping here or what?’. Well, I didn’t think that for long… When P & G woke up, the three of them started to shake  frantically the safety gate dividing our open plan kitchen and our living room. I barricaded myself in the kitchen and thought out loud: ‘I need a job. Whatever it is. Fuck the smell. Give me some shit loads of Durian!’

Soho House

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