It’s become a bit of a joke in my family. I thought we’d cut the questions about my available status and just hand out fliers with my ugly mug and personal details on it with a headline in big, black letters saying, ‘WANTED: Husband for professional spinster.’ (Because you know, single women in their late 20s are a danger to society). Easy, all the info you need on whether I would tick all the boxes required to be a suitable wife/in-law. Just don’t mention the fussy appetite, mood swings and baggage of dusty books.
Still, it’s one thing for it to be a private family joke to becoming an online advertisement for the single, desperate and unemployed.
Big Sister (or rather Steamed Chicken, as she shall henceforth be known) was back in Malaysia for three weeks and had met up with a friend for lunch. I tagged along because it would be stupid if I ate on my own while waiting to chauffeur Steamed Chicken around. (She’s recently discovered she’s been driving for 3 years with an expired licence, so Dad won’t let her use the car, hence me, the driver.)
Unlike my gregarious sister, I do not immediately form bonds with strangers, tell them my life story and say, “You’re my besht friend.” I’m more of the lean back in the chair, arms folded, suspicious stare kind of person. Occasionally I will smile. Although on social occasions I make the effort to be pleasant.
I gather I wasn’t being enthusiastic enough when Earnest Friend talked over me like I was a child and said to Steamed Chicken, “Your sister isn’t very talkative, is she?”
Hello, I am over here. Speak to me, or refrain from making comments. Or talk to me directly and include me in the conversation.
It never ceases to amaze me how strangers seem to think it perfectly acceptable to blatantly talk about you to someone else as if you weren’t there yourself.
But the finale is yet to come. Earnest Friend takes a picture of me and Steamed Chicken on his mobile phone. “For memories,” he says. Sure. I later find said picture on his blog (which I will not name because I like my anonymity, thanks very much), complete with my full name, and rather patronisingly saying that not to worry, soon I will find someone to cherish and to hold, just like he has with his wife of 10 years. Thanks, it’s good to know that someone I’ve met for all of two minutes is rooting for me.
I find it amusing that these smug, metrosexuals think they are so enlightened and wonderful just because they are nice to their wives. “Look, darling, I hung the laundry today. Aren’t I a good husband?”
I said I wouldn’t be too harsh as he is after all, my sister’s friend and she does have to face him again some day but I do think that was rather restrained on my part, don’t you think?
Still, it’s one thing for it to be a private family joke to becoming an online advertisement for the single, desperate and unemployed.
Big Sister (or rather Steamed Chicken, as she shall henceforth be known) was back in Malaysia for three weeks and had met up with a friend for lunch. I tagged along because it would be stupid if I ate on my own while waiting to chauffeur Steamed Chicken around. (She’s recently discovered she’s been driving for 3 years with an expired licence, so Dad won’t let her use the car, hence me, the driver.)
Unlike my gregarious sister, I do not immediately form bonds with strangers, tell them my life story and say, “You’re my besht friend.” I’m more of the lean back in the chair, arms folded, suspicious stare kind of person. Occasionally I will smile. Although on social occasions I make the effort to be pleasant.
I gather I wasn’t being enthusiastic enough when Earnest Friend talked over me like I was a child and said to Steamed Chicken, “Your sister isn’t very talkative, is she?”
Hello, I am over here. Speak to me, or refrain from making comments. Or talk to me directly and include me in the conversation.
It never ceases to amaze me how strangers seem to think it perfectly acceptable to blatantly talk about you to someone else as if you weren’t there yourself.
But the finale is yet to come. Earnest Friend takes a picture of me and Steamed Chicken on his mobile phone. “For memories,” he says. Sure. I later find said picture on his blog (which I will not name because I like my anonymity, thanks very much), complete with my full name, and rather patronisingly saying that not to worry, soon I will find someone to cherish and to hold, just like he has with his wife of 10 years. Thanks, it’s good to know that someone I’ve met for all of two minutes is rooting for me.
I find it amusing that these smug, metrosexuals think they are so enlightened and wonderful just because they are nice to their wives. “Look, darling, I hung the laundry today. Aren’t I a good husband?”
I said I wouldn’t be too harsh as he is after all, my sister’s friend and she does have to face him again some day but I do think that was rather restrained on my part, don’t you think?
Comments
Steamed Chicken need new friends.
Oh and would love a copy of Dina Zaman's book.
By the way I think someone got sick and vomited peas all over your blog.
very restrained on your part, i must say. classy too, oooh, c-las-sy. With this kind of classiness, don't worry, you'll find a man soon. HAHAHHAHAHHA.
Btw, methinks, Steamed Chicken needs a little roasting for letting her friend get away with it.