Crouching Lions

Hiring a lion dance troupe to the house : RM 200
Refreshments for the lion dance troupe : RM 50
Oranges and pomeloes for the performance : RM 20

Front row seat to watch a cousin get teased mercilessly during the performance : Priceless

There are some things money just can't buy. For everything else, we have money pooled together from our substantial red packets. The generous Fuzhous don't believe in pitiful packets.

Remember I mentioned a black sheep of a cousin called Richie Runt? Seems the troubled teen got tired of scamming little kids and patronizing gambling halls masquerading as cybercafes. Instead of concentrating on scholarly activities, he has decided to focus his attention on lion dance instead.

Much to everyone else's dismay.


Lion dance!
And no, he isn't the goofy fella with the mask and fan!
But I prefer to focus on the positive side. The dance troupe certainly keeps him away from less wholesome elements. Hey, at least Richie's not into juvenile delinquency anymore. My fears of having to bail the brat out of lockup are silenced for the moment.

A bit taller now so Richie's not that much of a runt anymore. So for the new year he has been going around houses with his juvenile troupe performing lion dances for a minimal fee. Got a lil tired, sunburnt and evaporated - but still a pretty good scam if you ask me since most ethnic Chinese around this year would hand out admirable largesse for almost anything vaguely auspicious. Our coffee shop certainly couldn't be left out - and though Richie specifically warned us not to - we managed to bribe his troupe leader into putting us on the route.

So that we could scare the black pants off him.

Which we then proceeded to do. Lispy Lori and the unruly band of perfectionista cousins- what I'm starting to call the Mad Maenads - accosted the troupe on the way to our house with catcalls and whistles. Seriously, in their new year slutty best, it was like the Suzie Wong district going for a bargain! Such unabashed public admiration from a gaggle of scantily clad girls would have had any red-blooded fella beaming with pride. But for a kid of barely 16, Richie shrank into the seat, his face flushed scarlet.

Poor fellow. No wonder he could barely hold the lion's head straight.

Quite a problem with the oranges in the house all hidden in unexpected corners.

Then the troupe members had to make the thoroughly frustrated rebel ( surely without a cause ) kneel down to my grandmother for the obligatory red packet much to his apparent disgust - and to our amusement. Catcalls ensued - with a lil celebratory dance from the Maenads.


Definitely a new year Richie Runt won't forget anytime soon.