Haiiiii!!!

Tonight I learnt that my parents have decided to pay for a few semesters worth of self-defence classes before I go and become a Columbian drug moll or whatever it is they think I'm going to do when I go overseas.



As a small slip of fabric, I appreciate their concerns. It's true that small finger puppets run a greater risk of being taken advantage of than other travellers, particularly in carnivale-prone places like Brazil or Venzeula. And I've always wanted to know the best way of poking some guy's eyes out before breaking the arch of his foot and then kneeing him in the nuts and then running home and toasting myself with a martini in the safety of my youth hostel/hotel/home. So everything was going swimmingly until metion of physical skill turned into feats of senior ability.

After blamelessly stretching my arms, I suddenly found my parents in different yoga attitudes around the kitchen, trying to impress each other with their skill/not skill at various yogic poses:




and then



What the hell is going to happen when I come home from my first self-defence class and they ask to see a demonstration?

I predict:



I am afraid...