Marriage Market

Women always get asked the question first.

Raging feminists might weep and wail but it doesn't change the unenviable fact that women, by convention, are usually married at an earlier age than men. Hence they get asked the dreaded question that much earlier.

Of course that doesn't mean the Miss Independents of today are capitulating to fall in line with such outdated notions. When presented with the marriage question by her conservative parents, Kool Kat declined flatly and pushed for a one-year extension.


Paul : Waitaminute, now you don't want to get married?
Kat : At least not for now!
Paul : And you guys say men are complex!
Which I found peculiar.

Paul : They asked you to be married by the end of the year?
Kat: Yes.
Paul : OMG! Yay! Congrats!
Kat : No! I told them no!
Paul : Why not?
Kat : Because!
Paul : You have a boyfriend?
Kat : Yes.
Paul : You love him?
Kat : Yes.
Paul : You want to marry him?
Kat : Yes.
Paul : So?
Kat : You sound like my mother.

Women these days. For all their talk of love and romance, do they actually want to be married? These days it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune would find it hard to find a woman to marry!

Since Kat already has a committed boyfriend whom she loves and fully intends to marry, I don't see what's the hitch in the wedding plans? If I was told to marry someone I already love, I think I'd already be breaking out the champagne, draping myself in white chiffon and drowning myself in wedding journals.

Grrrr. Maybe I should get married myself.

Inhibitions Be Gone

Damn my inhibitions sometimes.

Apart from the occasional psychotic break, I'm usually a bashful sorta fellow. Seriously, nothing I'm more afraid of than the all-too-public glare of fierce spotlights. Even now the thought of public speaking gets me a little weak in the knees - though I've tried hard to conquer that particular fear.


Damn. Do they really expect me to dance?
An innate trait? A conservative upbringing? A traumatic event in childhood? Who knows where such diffidence springs from but I've always shied away from the public glare.

A troubled insecurity most of the dancers on the floor don't seem to share! Latin Night here seems to draw out the wild revellers from every nook and cranny in the city; with each and every one seemingly eager to dance the night away. From the way some were shaking and jiggling their hips ( and other wobbly bits ) to the salsa music, I doubt even an entire broadcasting crew streaming live would have stopped them. Nothing like the free flow of alcohol to help boost their confidence.


Unfortunately downing an entire row of jello shots didn't seem to help me at all.

Damn. I was jealous.

As it was, I stood watching from the sidelines nursing my glass of wine.

Paul : Wish I could just get out there and dance.
My ISO : Go ahead.
Paul : It's not dark enough! Someone might see me.
My ISO : So what? Getting self-conscious in your dotage?
Paul : Probably yeah. What if I slip and fall?
My ISO : Wouldn't be the first time.
Paul : Gosh I am uptight!
My ISO : You are. Drink more.

Somehow I think I'd need to drown in a sea of tequila shots just to get that free and disinhibited.

Typing With a Sprain

Ouch.

Seriously. Who knew a little wrist sprain could be this painful!

Have no idea how the sprain came about. Didn't stumble and fall on the pavement. Perhaps all that twisting and turning during dance class could have caused the wrist sprain.

Oh woe my poor wrist.


Yes, it's my arm! Ouch.
We never do appreciate what we had till it's gone. Turns out the wrist - such a tiny little joint with dozens of lil tendons - does a lot of heavy-duty work. The most trifling insignificant actions start becoming a major pain in the... wrist. Twisting doorknobs and opening jars? Ouch. Turning the steering wheel isn't exactly smooth either. Wince. Even holding up a coffee mug is a strain! Even typing too fast is painful.

Best I can do with that hand is to roll the optical mouse around. And type with one finger.

I know. Doctors make the wimpiest, whiniest patients around.

For those curious enough, treatment of a sprained wrist - in cases where there is no fracture or significant instability - is the RICE method which stands for Rest Ice Compression Elevation. Resting my hand now of course. To cover the compression bit, also clipped on a slapdash splint made out of sticks and a borrowed glove.

Ouch. At least it's not the hand I wank with.

Swallowing Bitterness

I simply can't decide. Are we, as a whole, getting far too emo or do we just have far too many public spaces to vent our emotional angst on?

Judging by the daily status updates left by my tweenage cousins - and some of my much older peers - it has to be a little bit of both. Not a day passes that we are not inundated with some weepy, whiny deluge of emotion. Tearful rages over being sidelined in school to sobbing fests over the inattentive boy who didn't look their way.

Friend : My life is over!
Paul : You got cancer?
Friend : Even worse than that!
Paul : There is worse?
Friend : He doesn't like me!
Paul : So?

Every minuscule molehill of a problem turns into a mammoth mountain before their eyes. Not even talking about sophomoric girls like my cousins but also some of the men that I know - who should obviously know better.

Far be it for me to wish for the stoic, silent Marlboro Man of the past - but surely there can be a surfeit of emotion! Getting in touch with your feelings is one thing, desperately wallowing in a roiling emotional tsunami is quite another.


Feeling all angsty-emo today!
Seriously. Suck it up. Come back to me when you actually have a real problem. Anything short of permanent disability or death isn't something to wail about.

Take a look around. There are folks dealing with natural disasters in horrific succession and you don't see them endlessly bellyaching. There are folks dying of dozens of debilitating diseases and you don't see them pathetically snivelling. And isn't it odd that the ones actually beset with real problems are usually the ones stoically swallowing their pain?

They don't weep, whine or wail; they soldier on.

Yes, I know the emo boys and girls out there are wondering how I can be so unfeeling. Frankly, I've never felt all that emo. Not even when I was a acne-scarred sixteen beset with angsty teenage hormones and battling all those unnatural homosexual urges. I dealt with it. Why? Because there are far bigger problems in the world. People everywhere with much heavier burdens to carry that would make our problems seem so small, trivial and insignificant.

There is a Chinese maxim 吃苦 that essentially means swallowing bitterness meant to signify the act of enduring hardship. Now, where did that particular virtue go?

How I Met My Mother-In-Law

Mother-in-laws.

Surely one of the scariest words in the dictionary. Unless you fall heads-over-heels in love with an orphan - or you have the option to call for a hit squad, you'll have to deal with a mother-in-law sooner or later in life.

I find the best way to deal with a crotchety mother-in-law is to suck up to her. Majorly. Cosset, pamper and cater to her every whim and fancy; treat her like a fucking queen even if she's the most ornery shrew around. Though I'm sure my ertswhile mother-in-law would wish me in the deepest bowels of hell, I couldn't be a sweeter son-in-law more solicitous of her needs.

Seriously. Go ask Charming Calvin.


Flowers for the mother-in-law?
Age-old advice I'm sure the independent young ladies these days are loath to take. Just take a look at this recent article where an almost newlywed gets a nasty scold from her admittedly imprudent mother-in-law. No doubt the liberated Miss Independents of today would rail violently against such old-fashioned censure!

Though she could have been more circumspect with her comments, I kinda agree with the mother-in-law. Knowing that she's likely on probation, the aspiring daughter-in-law should have been far more punctilious in her behaviour.

Never believe mi casa es su casa - even if your sweet mother-in-law says so with a winning smile. Even if she treats you like a cherished long-lost daughter, that doesn't mean it's time to kick up your heels, grab a beer and slouch on the couch. Never. Always keep your guard up and be on your best behaviour. Judgemental eyes are always watching.

So why should you sweeten up your mother-in-law anyway?

1) There's the obvious reason that she actually brought up the man you love! You're not only marrying the man, you're getting the family as well. So if you hate her, you hate him. End of story. Hence don't get married then.

2) Miss Manners, people! How you behave with your partner's parents reflects on your own family and upbringing. Act like a sloppy bitch at your in-laws and they would presume you were brought up that way. In the lowest stables. So behave!

Seriously as long as you're not actually living full-time with the in-laws, you can bloody well maintain some decorum for a few days while you're there. Stick that rude, brash attitude in the closet. Swallow some criticism, whether valid or not. How difficult can it be to keep up a sweet, smiling, sunshiney front for a couple of days in front of the critical in-laws!