Prelude to manhunt

Was another crazy day churning out advertisements n meeting crazy deadlines for the Bank. Found myself arguing with a Banker about using MasterCard vs Mastercard and the importance of spacing between the brand logo and the cardfaces… V technical and banal in a who the hell cares kinda way. Multiply that by a hundred and you hve an idea how interesting my humdrum existence is. At the end of the day, Sean called me at 8pm for our collective spinster whine and we decided to go tantric, no, not the sex, which i dont mind, but just the local gay joint.

Coincidentally, I have been listening to some motivational pod cast on gay dating and ‘the secret’ (recently a new york’s times best seller, choke on the irony) and how thinking of getting a hot can actually get u a hot guy. I stepped out of the office, into the gym for a quick shower and perfumed and stepped out to meet him with a seriously hot dream boyfriend in my mind.

We met. “Oh my god! I have been so stressed by work lately!” He gushed and I laughed and agreed.

We walked past one of those vintage shophouses that must serve vampires for who else would buy electronic cameras at 9pm in the evening, or at all these days?!
“To be sure, it is either we r decisively spinsters and rich or attached to a boyfriend and let him settle the rest. It is the worst to be trapped in the middle with being poor n dateless!!”
I didnt think it wise or particularly consoling to mention that I pay a ridiculously low level of income tax I wonder why the government would bother to collect in the first place.

We got into Dymk (short for does your mother know) filled by one-eighth of humans n seven-eighth ghosts. Granted, it is nice n cozy but never with the kind of guys that catches my eyes. The fact that they hve a waiter who was formerly a boyish bodybuilder and now looks like a body-ruin with a surly gruff air — didn’t allow me much to tell my mother about.

We got in an squealed for joy as we demanded their legendary (at least to Sean) tapioca chips only to discover, a mojito later that they r dry (of chips n not the mojitos). Well, u never hve more snarling spinsters ever as we shot eyes of daggers at the body ruin bartender.
Who would hve thought as we drank and chortled at the lack of guys in the world that an Indian lawyer who was looking to date me over the past week, and with whom I turned down a dinner that very evening, sailed through the bar like a helium balloon from the backrooms.
What happened was like one of those fast action block buster movies as catastrophe strikes: everything happened in slow-mo….

“Oh sheesh…” I muttered as I lift the glass of mojito up to hide my face.
And I caught his eye.

It was horrific especially as I have turned him down for dinner. And Sean didn’t help matters when i invited him to sit with us and he muttered “don’t” in mandarin, and he knows Chinese.

He sailed off after a few formal greetings like a balloon and Sean couldn’t help but to draw Bollywood jokes at me.

It was a slow evening of pulling guys and I decided to seek alternatives.

“let’s go off to tantric. the crowd is slow here…” I remarked predatorily and we left. Surly body-ruin caught us just before we left without paying and we paid quickly to pull some guys for the night.

In tantric, the guys were a little better but the they were mostly with friends and I wasn’t feeling too friendly. There was a pretty hot guy to my left on the counter (greekish lebanon kinda way) but he looked vaguely dirty and I had to work tmr. So we ended up watching Kumar the famous drag queen on tv and Kumar the uncle beside us as I downloaded horoscope apps in the bar counter as giggled over ridiculous predictions and predicaments in our quests for love.

We got back high and happy. Though manless, we made a pact to come back on Friday evening to pull a man for real the next day.

I guess it’s the hope that keeps us snarling spinsters going in the cold lonely Singaporean evenings.


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