Heineken Hussy

No one understands my "pseudo" relationship (as I like to call it) with Dr. Dish. Least of all me. (Guys have a clue though – here’s a girl that never says no – too good to be true? Not really, I am living proof! Just to the one, though.)

Why is terminology so important anyway? This much is clear - we are NOT in a relationship. He’s not made any promises (hence he can’t break them. I like this part), I don’t hold him to any obligations, nor am I obliged to him. There are no emotions involved, hence there is no need for a commitment. As yet.

Is that so hard to get?

Evidently so. Most of the time, I’m pretty relaxed about the whole thing. Why should I chase him for a commitment when I’m not even sure I want one myself? I laugh when people say he’s using me. Puh-lease! I’m getting my roll in the hay too! And I have enjoyed (almost) every ride – so to speak. However, there are times the green-eyed monster does raise its ugly head and I feel the need to clamp down on the shameless hussies clamouring for his attention and scream, "Hands off, Ladies, he’s MINE."

But he wasn’t. Okay, here’s where the waters get murky. I guess I see the need for definition after all. But I am well aware I have no exclusive rights over Dr. Dish. However, we have a (tacit) system that’s easy enough to understand. If ever the two of us were in a room together, whether or not we arranged it, we were together. I wouldn’t disrespect him by flirting or getting off with anyone else (no matter how hot!) and I would expect the same for him. I can live without love, but I demand at the very least, mutual respect, if not affection.

Enter the Heineken Hussy. No doubt she’s known him since diapers. (Okay, high school). Upon first glance, she hardly seemed threatening. Mistake #1. Never underestimate your competition, no matter how they looked on the outside. Remember the age old adage Never judge a book by it’s cover? In this case, she came to Zouk in ca-pa-lang (dark) blue denim jeans (unfashionably baggy!) a pasar type white baby tee and an old lady bag … and OMG, yes, it was white plastic looking sneakers fit for primary students playing badminton.

My Carrie Bradshaw soul cringed at the sight. Blahniks, they weren't. (Not even Vincci!) But after the stunts she pulled that day, I have now humbly learnt my lesson. No matter how these hussies look on the outside (they don’t always have to come in the LBDs and FMBs) – they always know how to play the game!

And they don’t play fair.

In this case, ironically, it was I that was in the LBD and come fuck me heels. All dressed up and nowhere to go, in the end...

Dr. Dish had come to meet me, bringing along his high school friends. I was delighted! Admittedly, I was still holding up for a future relationship at this point and I was thrilled he was introducing me to the sacred circle. I took it as an almost-declaration. After all, Dr. Dish was always more of a man of action, and very few words. (these days almost none!)

Hussy was having none of it. Of course from the moment I saw them together, I knew she liked him. This is the case of most females when they catch sight of those big dreamy eyes, all the way up on that tall buff bod. (And in the case of these hussies, they jump up so fast-blink and you’ll miss it- when they hear the word "Doctor."). Dr. Dish really is clueless about how attractive he is, and I usually have to do the beating off with a stick. (Not that I let him know, of course!)

Let me set the scene. There we were, getting our groove on, by the side of the bar, just the two of us, despite his friends just standing around with their drinks. Let me digress for a bit here and wax lyrical about how thankful I am that the boy has rhythm (both in and out of the sack). I love dancing with him. Despite his height - while attractive to ME, even the simple act of holding hands is hard enough, let alone dancing. I can’t ever reach without him bending double or me going on my tiptoes. (Although he has this sweet habit of lifting me up and letting me stand on his feet when we kiss.)

I remember it well. I was looking up at him in open admiration, and he was looking affectionately down at me as we began intertwining against each other despite the fast beat. I was waiting for the first kiss – the sparks were in place, the romantic tension … it was only a matter of seconds.

I forgot one tiny not-so-INsignificant deet. Mistake #2. Heineken Hussy. Before one could say "Cheap Slut" – she’d barged right in between the two of us, breaking up our little embrace instantly. She looked at him all innocence and whined plaintively, "I want to dance with her," then turned to me with a look of triumph in her beady little eyes going, "I love your friend (me). I love the way she moves, so sexy with all that hair, and that body and those moves (please, hand me the puke bag now. How transparent was that!) I want to dance with her!" and with that, Dr. Dish laughed and let her to it. Obviously not too transparent to this obtuse man!

This Vixen wasn’t fooled. As politely as I could, I walked away at the first opportunity. (Shoved her away, more like.) But as she’d achieved her purpose, Dr. Dish was no longer wrapped all around me, so she continued on the dance-floor in her glee. To my delight, I saw Dr. Dish sat by the bar, pouring the Chivas. I happily made a bee-line for him, and we had maybe 5 minutes before the Hussy had come over to us on the pretext of wanting a fag.

Now, since I don’t smoke, obviously, it wasn’t me who she came to talk to. As soon as he lit it for her, instead of politely leaving us to it, in fact, she sidled closer to him. Right in between us!!! I couldn’t believe what was happening. It was like a train-wreck in slow motion, and I saw it coming and yet I couldn’t do anything to stop it. There I was, standing right in front of him, while she was – OMG, she was not….

Yes, she was. SAT. On his LAP. My Dr. Dish!!! I couldn’t believe the cheek!!! Dr. Dish gave me a helpless look and held up his hands for me to see they were nowhere near her, but it didn’t make things any better. There nestled in his crotch was the Heineken Hussy, puffing away at her cigarette, in between MY Man’s thighs.

How would ANY woman react, I ask you!

God, I so wanted to give her 2 black eyes to see in the new year, but remembering his psychotic ex girlfriend, I didn’t want him to think he’d ended up with another Psycho Siren. So I held my head up high, and actually stood my ground. I don’t know if I should be shouted at for this act of stupidity, or it should be admired. I actually stood around in the immediate vicinity, chatting to his friends around us, all the while feeling like a fool, because anyone looking at them now would think THEY were the happy couple.

Aloof, Cool, Ice Queen. I kept chanting, determined not to let her win. But I'm afraid to say she did. There was only so much I could take, and I thought it was bloody disrespectful of Dr. Dish not to do anything. Finally, I reached my limit and stalked off without another word to him.

Not that he even guessed I was spitting mad, such was my dignified (I thought!) exit.

I found my friend, and insisted we leave. I guess I should mention it doesn’t end here. Once he cottoned on to the fact I was gone, and had not said goodbye (a bit slow, is our dishy doctor)- he came running after me.

Too little too late.

Que Hindi movie style drama. When he shouted to get my attention from the crowded entrance of Zouk, and I barely glanced at him, he seemed to think it was a brilliant idea to run across the crowded street. In fact, he almost got hit by a car – and here our Bollywood hero banged on the bonnet as he rushed towards me, calling out my name dramatically.

(I cannot believe these things actually HAPPEN in real life!)

And what did he say when he actually managed to grab me? Between the "Erms..." and "Aaahs" .... I did not hear an apology nor an explanation. (Words not being one of his strong suits.) Just a pleading look and an apologetic hug and telling me he’d call me and we’ll do something that weekend.

Unfortunately, I am (still) a sucker for those big dreamy eyes. Sue me. I'm only female, and my particular weakness (other than alcohol) is spelled "Dr.Dish".

Score 1 Heineken Hussy. Vino Vixen, nil.

Smirnoff Shags

Friends with Privileges …

I’d said before how I didn’t believe in sex without love. But I’ve grown up now, and am no longer viewing life through my rosy-tinted shades. Where I was once naïve and idealistic with hopes and dreams of a Forever Love, my “relationship” with Dr. Dish has changed all that. We’re involved, in the biblical sense … and yet, there have been no declarations as such, nor do I even think there might be some in the future(!).

I don’t deny I hope, however, I am realistic enough not to expect.

But while I may not be in love with him, I’m certainly in lust with him. I do genuinely like him - and not just for that stunning exterior alone! Because he is an inherently kind, decent human being, and in this day and age, one really can’t ask for more than that. (Yes, I do realise I deserve MORE, however, MORE isn’t at my doorstep at the moment.)

Plus, he’s got these huge dreamy eyes that a girl could just drown in. They go really big when he’s thoughtful, half closed when he’s turned on, and almost sly when he’s just about to make his move. (Hah, and he tells me he’s shy. I’ve got his number on this one … except I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth!)

I can still remember the first day I saw him. In a school full of geeks and bookworms (yours truly being one of the latter) and completely deprived of hot totty, the sight of this tall dark and handsome young boy stuck out like a sore thumb.

I remember that devastating smile – what I once thought of as mysteriously sexy, I know now was just awkward shyness. When he found out I wouldn’t bite, and would actually talk to him like a person, not an object, how he had relaxed and started laughing with me. When we sat next to each other at chemistry and wrote each other notes the whole time to make the lesson go quicker. When he first scribbled down his number for me to ring him... ah, if we only knew then what that would culminate in!

We became buddies. Not great mates, but two people who could always laugh at the world. We didn’t have deep meaningful conversations. While I could follow sport better than the average girl, I didn’t truly understand his passion or commitment to it. To be fair, I don’t think he recognised or understood my passion for words either (he being a man of NO words ...). We didn’t really have much in common … and honestly, we still don’t. However, in those days, we shared a lot of laughs.

I miss that part. I miss how he’d tease me mercilessly, yet always look on worriedly, wondering if he took things too far. How much easily he laughed with me than with anyone else. How he looked for me whenever he came to join a group I was with. I felt he liked me then, even if he won’t tell me now.

I remember that night when we sat together on my porch fence, alone in the world, those big eyes looking down at me, all innocent nerves. It could have been the perfect setting, but I hadn’t a clue he wanted me then. This popular, handsome, sports star … and me … sure, I was popular, but everyone only ever wanted to be my friend, not to be my boyfriend. It took me a further 8 years to do what I wanted to do that night.

8 years on, the day I turned 25, I gathered up the courage I didn’t have at 17, fuelled, of course, by the alcohol intake (it was my birthday!) and planted one on him. Of course, he’d been giving me signals the whole night, but nevertheless, I was still shocked when he responded … and much more! Almost 2 years on, here we are, still doing what we do!

In retrospect, I have to wonder did I lose him at 17 by my lack of confidence and low self-esteem? He started going out with the school siren the very next week. They stayed together, went off to university together and pretty much, everybody thought they’d have their happily ever after. Dr. Dish and the Siren – no one name was ever said without the other. In fact, the sight of him following her around like a devoted puppy would not easily leave me.

Perhaps he’d never love again, not that purely. Maybe she’s sucked all the remnants of feeling and emotion from him. Whatever devotion and affection he had then, he’s lost the will to conjure up again. She was a fool that was never good enough for him. She broke my Dr. Dish, and I wonder if I could ever make him whole again.

I don’t deny I’ve come with scars of my own … and perhaps now is the time we were meant to be with each other, not back then. I don’t know what we’re doing with each other now, but I don’t want to be without him either.

That shy young awkward star is now a Dishy Doctor. He is still rather awkward and shy, but is more self-assured than I remember. And that chatty bookworm has become a chatty Professional Butterfly. I’ve discovered style, I’ve discovered men … and I have a clue. Dr. Dish didn’t know what hit him!

However all that conversation we used to have is gone. Those easy laughs and drunken mirth. By crossing over to the greyness of a “Friends with Privileges” arrangement, our friendship is gone, and we don’t even have a relationship to make up for it. But we do enjoy each other, physically. Is this good enough for the long haul? Probably not. But only time will tell if there is more to our future than just a physical attraction.

We’ve been at it for nearly a year now. Surely a fling ought to be flung by now? However, if we’re just with each other until our Ones come, so be it … life’s too short to close the door on opportunity.

Particularly when that opportunity has those big dreamy eyes and hot body, full of promise I know he can deliver. Why spend Saturday nights alone on earth, when a phone call away is someone who can make the earth move. Again … and again …. and again!

Whatever my head tells me; my friends tell me, whatever common sense dictates, Dr. Dish is just something I have to … er, do.

Bequeathing Bourbon

CJ surprised me today with the strangest request. As I’m currently under pressure at work, and awaiting the axe to fall, I’ve been chanting the following all day:

“I’m going to die…. I’m going to die…. I’m going to die…. I’m going to die…. I’m going to die….”

It has obviously served to inspire her. Not even a little bit hesitant, CJ asked me what I’d leave her. When I couldn’t think of anything – still living off my parents and all (basically owning nothing!), she graciously suggested my bed. Ah, my place of slumber is indeed a place of unfulfilled fantasies and long-held desires. (Unfulfilled as in I’d been the only occupant … ever!) It’s a custom made teak creation with the requisite four posters that I’d long dreamt of, inspired by the many romance novels I’d read.

Also, being king sized, it’s much too big for little old me, but probably perfect for the 6’ CJ! Sorry, mate, it’s staying with me as long as I’m alive. And given my taste in men …a king-sized bed is very necessary! I have one requirement (one obvious one, that is!) and it is HEIGHT. Not the easiest thing to fulfil in this country!!

But believe me, I have paid my dues! The Rotten Ex was 6’4” and we shared a single STUDENT bed for 2 whole years.

I've never actually dated anyone less than 6’ feet tall, if memory serves me (and be warned, I'd been accused of having a selective memory!). A constant bone of contention for my (much) taller best friend who frequently accuses me of swimming in her very small pool. (More like puddle!)

However, you’d be surprised to note that my Mr. Darcy is not quite 5’8. (He insists on 5’10”, but you all know how men easily exaggerate inches, or lack thereof!) I’d always been warned that if I’m too fussy (with one requirement?) I’d get the direct opposite of what I asked for… And truth be told, if I ended up with Mr. Darcy, I would.

I have come to surmise that attraction can make one loopy in the head. (Yes, this is my mature conclusion.)

And by the way, CJ, if you should go before me (choi! choi! choi!) you know what I want. (Ahem. B is for both baguette and bling. Put them together and you get ….) Just so you know, while our time is limited on this earth, I’m not quite ready to go just yet. There’s yet things to do, places to see, people to meet… lives to change...

Vodka Vision

Don’t Drink and Text – Especially the Ex!

Okay, so he’s not an Ex, as such, but it’s still sound advice. But I must elaborate on how I was driven to it.Yes, driven! Contrary to my first excerpt, life truly isn’t all champagne wishes and caviar dreams, as we well know.

Let me set the scene. There I was, feeling like a party, for the first time in ages. Yes, there’s the excess weight gain (again, to quote my favourite heroine, I’m going to have to tell Mr. Darcy "And yes, I will always be just a little bit FAT." Too much Bridget in my life! If there ever was a Malaysian version, you’ve met her!), but by some miracle, outfit I assembled - okay, my SISTER (helped) assembled after I’d discarded the majority of the contents of my wardrobe, wasn’t showing too much of my 3 spare tires.

I hadn’t feel fanciable for a good 3 weeks now… it no coincidence that it was the exact period of time since I told Dr. Dish to "lose my number". But I was determined that I had taken the high road, and this was best. I was the aloof, cool, Ice-Queen Professional Woman and no emotional fuckwit was going to mess around with me!

So, there I was, with my dancing shoes on, when the other half of my Guinness combo came roaring up my driveway at half past 9, I was well up for a good night out. Why Guinness? My party partner, Aoirish, is as fair (blonde and blue eyed) as I am dark – messy dark hair that never behaves itself (though thankfully, tonight, it was in its gypsy curls fashion on its best party temperament that night) with dark eyes to match, her Mam had thought the nickname apt. The nic has since stuck; despite the fact we’re both vodka women!

Aoirish has recently become involved with Older Man. It’s made more complicated by the fact she’s mates with his (soon-to-be) ex wife. However, as this is my story and not hers, so that brief intro is all you’re going to get! I had not seen Aoirish as often as I’d liked since Mr. Smooth came into the picture, as is the usual practice when one’s girlfriend meets a New Man.

Moving along swiftly! Aoirish was meeting Mr. Smooth for after work drinks at his regular watering hole, and I was promised some fit men. I soon found out there were none...

None eligible, that is. Mr. Smooth’s work buddy, Mr. Suave was cute, and definitely up my alley, but for the fact there was a wedding ring flashing on his finger. I’m not ever helping a Married Man cheat (ever again! I had my one …and there goes the quota!) But there was always vodka ....

I met a few people I knew – KL is such a "tempurung" sometimes (like the katak under the tempurung?) Most surprising of all, was my high school friend, Spaz. I swear he had a crush on me in high school however as he never asked me out officially (story of my life!), I had never quite believed he liked me romantically.

We had a nice time catching up on our lives – at first. We’re both adults now and living in completely different worlds, but it doesn’t change the fact we shared some good times way back in the day. I walked away from our conversation feeling cheered. ("Buttons" had come on, especially dedicated for me, and Mr. Smooth and Mr. Suave were entertaining the masses with a strip tease. I needed a closer look. No crime in window shopping was there?)

A few vodka’s on; I was caught in a tête-à-tête with Mr. Suave, and was genuinely trying to escape the charms of those suggestive brown eyes. Another vodka or so, and I may have forgotten my Married Men Rule. (I try to stand very strongly on this one!) But it’s always nice to feel fanciable, and older men like Mr. Smooth and Mr. Suave were masters of the game, having been there, done that, and bought the T-shirt. They know precisely what to say to a girl to get into her pants. I just don’t want to be that girl (anymore).

I was comforted when Spaz joined me, apparently to show me pictures of his 18-year-old girlfriend. I was more amused than appalled at his display of the proud "ha ha, I got me some teen ass" machoness. The Spaz I knew wasn’t a bad person at all, underneath all the bluster. I know insecurity, and have experienced the over-compensation for the lack of confidence many a time. However, I was not equipped to deal with it when I wasn’t expecting it to be directed at me!

After doing the usual "Way Da Go" pat-on-the back, he smiled at me in smug acknowledgement of his greatness. He said and I quote (directly!) "I gotta admit – you’ve put on some weight, eh?" Ladies and gentlemen, Clanger #1. My jaw dropped open in sheer shock at the unexpected rudeness. Weren’t Malaysian men aware what polite anymore? I stared at him in a complete loss.

He then laughed, putting his arm around my admittedly fleshy waist, and continued (Clanger#2) "But you still have your lovely personality,"

I know what this meant. Guys only described women as having "lovely personality" when they wouldn’t do you with a bag over your head, but would laugh at your jokes at the dinner table. However, believe it or not, the worst was yet to come. The piece de resistance was Spaz’s final jab. "Remember when you used to be hot?" (Clanger #3) and with that, he walked away, all over my fragile confidence.

I had to escape, and absolutely bolted to the loos. And that’s where it happened. Back to Dr. Dish. The phone was just there, the number not yet erased as I had commanded him to. Absolutely begging me to let him come and er, "comfort" me, as only he could.

Sod pride. I needed the ego boost, and he was just THERE, a phone (booty) call away. All 6 feet tall of gorgeous man, those dreamy eyes and big sheepish "aw, shucks, ma’am, I didn’t know any better" smile to boot!

In my drunken despair, my "Can we be "friends" again?" completely eradicated every power-packed punch of my (now infamous) "Lose my number!"

However, as I woke up with a smile on my face … I can’t complain just yet.

Cocktail Code

The Single Girl’s Code to Living Life

I used to have only 3 rules, all concerning my chosen vices – drink, sex – and the one I absolutely draw the line at – drugs.

1. Drink - Never drink alone or when the sun is out

I guess the older you get, the more rules you break. Or, as life is an ever evolving process, the rules change as you grow up. Rule #1 was broken pretty quickly when I moved to the United Kingdom. Alcohol was no longer something to be done under the cover of night in a dodgy club where your parents or their friends could catch you at it. Our first tutorial group went to the pub after our afternoon lecture, and there was no conceivable reason not to have a drink if you felt like one.

Wine over lunch became acceptable … classy even. So why not?

As long as one knew their limits of course, which of course I do! (NOT.)

2. Sex - No Sex without Love

I never fooled myself into thinking I was saving myself for marriage. Please! Not like marriage was a certainty … but I had hoped to at least, experience True Love.

And I did. I had a dream first time with my dream man. It was everything I could have asked for. We were madly in love and didn’t see the end, in the way only two fools in love could be. We were each others best friends, we’d convinced ourselves we’d found our other halves. He was my soul mate…. And even though it’s been over for years, I haven’t quite convinced myself there could be another One out there.

However, as he dumped me for the Singaporean Slut that lived down the corridor, that dream died a quick painful death. (It was getting over it that was the agonisingly slow process).

But I was no longer an idealistic teenager in love. I was an adult woman with physical needs and desires. One that wasn’t foolish enough to wait another 22 years for love. Sex can be just that – sex. No complications, no entanglements … just two people enjoying each other’s physical prowess between the sheets, hopefully a mutual respect and affection for each other if not undying love.

I have that now, and I do not feel like it’s anything to be ashamed of. Of course one always feels they deserve better … a Meaningful Relationship, for one … but until that day comes, I don’t see the harm in enjoying myself while I wait.

And any female that has met Dr. Dish would call me a fool if I did turn him down. Meaningful Relationship or not, the man is HOT. And his bedside manner improves with every encounter, I can't complaint just yet.

3. Drugs – TAK NAK!

Nope, there’s no way around this rule, not for me personally. While I enjoy the alcoholic effect of getting tipsy and high … it’s a natural high that’s the best. I do not believe in drugs, in any kind of false chemically-induced happiness (does alcohol count?)… This is one rule I’m never breaking, no matter how old I get.

Like I always say – two out of three ain’t bad.

Babelicious Brandy

Just before the lot of you think I'm this pathetic Romantic, awaiting her Knight in Shining Armour - I'm not. Here's my mantra, courtesy of the Pussycat Dolls. Like Nicole says, "I want a love thats real, and without that, there's no deal." -Vix-

I DON'T NEED A MAN (!)

"I see you lookin' at me like I got somethin' that's for you

And the way that you stare, don'tcha dare 'cause I'm not about to

Just give it all up to you

'Cause there are some things I won't do

And I'm not afraid to tell you I don't ever wanna leave you confused

The more you try the less I bite and

I don't have to think it through

You'll know if I'm into you

I don't need a man to make it happen, I get off bein' free

I don't need a man to make me feel good, I get off doin' my thing

I don't need a ring around my finger, to make me feel complete

So let me break it down- I can get off when you ain't around!

I see you lookin' at me like I got somethin' that's for you

And the way that you stare, don'tcha dare 'cause I'm not about to

Just give it all up to you

'Cause there are some things I won't do

And I'm not afraid to tell you I don't ever wanna leave you confused

You know I've got my own life and I bought everything that's in it

So if you wanna be with me it ain't at all about the bling you're

bringin'

I want a love that's for real

And without that-no deal

And baby I don't need a hand if it only wants to grab one thing

The more you try the less I bite

And I don't have to think it through

You'll know if I'm feelin' you

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (Let it go!)

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (Baby...)

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (No no no no...)

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (Let it go!)

I don't need a-I don't need a man, I don't

I don't need a man to get me through

Cause I'm doin' fine I feel brand new

I don't need a-I don't need a man, I don't

I don't need a man to make it through

Cause I'm doin' fine without you!

Oh, I don't need a man

I'm over you, yeah!

I don't need a man (Ohh I'm over you)

I don't need a man (Without you)

I'm over you

Oh! I don't need a man

I don't need a man (Did I complete 'cha? I don't need ya!)

I don't need a man"

-Pussycat Dolls-

Chapter 1 - Champagne Wishes & Caviar Dreams

I’ve had a list since I was a little girl. No one can convince me that no other female has crafted a similar list, whether or not they make it public knowledge as I often do (thought filter process just doesn’t work with me!). As for me, my list has just been further enhanced the older I get, not shoved back to the recesses of my memories, more suited to the adult professional woman of the new millennium I aspire to be.

Oh, did I mention - Independent Female with no NEED for a Man? Er, no. While there is no NEED … there is certainly a want for that happily ever after.

Anyway, here’s my list:

1. The Bling - Tiffany & Co

I’m NOT ashamed to admit I yearn for the same cut as Mrs. K-Fed … she MUST’VE picked it out herself … all square-cut 2 carat blinding white diamond on a double white gold diamond encrusted setting. All the same, I might be tempted to squeal "Yes, yes, OH YES!" to just the little turquoise box. No matter who was holding it. One must remember not to drink too much if such blessed occasion should arise.

2. The Dress - Vera Wang

I’m still giving this one some thought. Fashions change with the times, and I like to think I’m very in-tune with the latest trends…. From the late eighties to mid-nineties, it looked like the huge tulle skirt and endless yards of satin and lace, inspired by the late Princess of Wales, style icon and deceased legend. However, in my new 2006 eyes, rereading a magazine article about her dress and perusing the photographs of her "happy" day recently, I cringe. I cringe for her and all the women that tried to emulate that style. It looked like a bride had thrown up the wedding cake.

I'd hide the wedding pictures.

I’m not walking down the aisle dressed like a meringue; neither are my relatives and best friends going to look like a confetti factory in peach and pink taffeta. Though I often tease my best friend CJ, who prefers sensible attire to fussy female wear. I tell her I’m putting her in a pink Little Bo Peep-esque gown. Only kidding, CJ, really. Am sure Vera would be kind to us both …

3. The Venue - Location Location Location!

This I’ve had to struggle with. In my years in England, I made my then almost-fiancée (or strictly speaking, my First Love, a.k.a the Rotten Ex) swear we’d be getting married in a castle. Or failing that, an English style country manor house. As he lived near Stowe, and we spent many a happy summer (okay, two summers) dreaming of that very day in its grounds, I thought it perfect. In view of the fact the Rotten Ex has absconded his role of Mr. Darcy, for lack of heart - the English wedding is off, and we’re back on track to my Irish Castle and original groom, Mr. Darcy.

However, now that my English/Irish dreams seem far behind me, I’ve had to look closer to home. Malaysia is gorgeous. I always said I’d only ever properly live in two places. Kuala Lumpur or London. For the past three years now, it’s been Kuala Lumpur.

What’s not to love about Kuala Lumpur? A delightful mesh of East meets West, and my very own Cosmopolitan City! So, should I tie the knot here, my dinner reception will be nowhere but the KL Shangri-La. (KL Hilton is no doubt, amazing, but I’ve my heart set on the Shang. When in doubt, always, pick the Shang!)

4. The First Dance

The current song of choice is "The Way You Look Tonight". Not original, but weddings are all about tradition, and in case you haven’t noticed a theme, I’m a traditional woman at heart.

My usual type of man is the one holding his whiskey, looking arrogant in the corner of the bar and certainly, way too cool to dance. The dream is, he’d be looking at me affectionately as I boogie to the beat (I can do a mean "Beep" a la the Pussycat Dolls.), jealous that he didn’t have my devil-may-care attitude (and dancing skills). The reality is, he’d be looking disdainfully down his nose at the drunken dervish on the table top (ce moi’) and shaking his head as if to say "I don’t know who that woman is."

But this is my wedding fantasy, and my chosen Mr. Darcy would suddenly morph into Fred Astaire (or a hetero Rupert Everett a la My Best Friend’s Wedding) and whirl me across the dance floor in the passionate giddy throes of being a Husband.

My Husband.

5. The Proposal

I’m not (too) fussy. As long as he goes down on one knee when I least expect it, be it a public place (Tamarind Springs!) or when we were alone under a moonlit beach and pledges eternal love. Oh, and flashes the requisite bling from the requisite turquoise box and answers to the name of "Mr. Darcy" (or at least the attributes!) …. I’m ready to say YES.

(Quoting Shakespeare or Byron is a plus...)

6. The Groom

Hello? Have you not been paying attention? Mr. Darcy of course!!! Fortunately, I have met Him (I think) and I do genuinely feel in my bones that he’s The One. He’s met me too … but UN-fortunately, he doesn’t seem think I’m (his) One. Or doesn’t allow himself to think that I’m The One for him. My romantic heart wills myself to believe that it’s only a matter of time, and in the meantime, there’s no reason why this (still) single girl can’t have fun while His Highness cottons on.

But for now, yes, the check box for groom remains empty.

However, life is not too bad for a Singleton in today’s modern world … but only if we lived in our cocoon. In Malaysia, if you’re above 25 and are not seriously dating anybody (hence, there are no very real plans to head down the aisle at some point in the near future) – people around you panic. As the whole world and its sister plan weddings and drops babies, us 1979 babies who have yet to even realistically plan the plunge, are objects to be pitied (or vilified?).

Am I too fussy? And why shouldn't I be? I’m only choosing my LIFE PARTNER. It’s a life sentence, and I WANT to spend it with the RIGHT One. Is that too hard to understand? To quote my favourite heroine, "I’m looking for something more extraordinary than that." And until I find that, I’m determined not to settle.

My married friends look at me with a demented sense of calm serenity and urge me to "give it a try! It’s amazing." Yes, I would like to, but the choice isn’t MINE, people! Like it takes two to tango, two hands to clap, TWO … to make a marriage.

I’d never been good at math, but even I know that I equals one.

But until that day … and I must believe this day will come … I am determined to make the most of my single status. I have a full social life that doesn’t revolve around a partner’s schedule. I have girlfriends (much fewer these days, I do admit!) that I can call at the drop of a hat to go out and get lashed. I eat where I please, when I please, not having to cater to someone else’s whims and fancies. (I remember the chips & beans v pasta dinner debates very well. Not to mention the beer v vino, cricket v Sex & the City – the remote control is MINE!!!! Ah, you get the point!)

I can spend my entire month’s salary on shoes and have no one to lecture me. I have great male friends for company. I even have a dreamy-eyed doctor, who I "date" on occasion. The proverbial "Friend with Privileges", which suits us both, well enough. (Ah but the story on Dr. Dish … will have to wait for the next instalment.)

While I may go out and get that retriever for myself sooner rather than later, I will not be replacing Mr. Darcy anytime soon with a bunch of cats.