Like Mak Nenek

There is something incredibly off putting about parents who dress up their kids in clothes that make them look way older than they are.

Don't get me wrong. I adore kids (not really) who are dressed very cutely and appropriately. I, however, am talking about parents who dress up their kids years beyond their age, complete with garish make-up and unnecessary accessories.

See I believe that kids should look and dress their age. I am absolutely all for playing dress up and looking all cute and she but I draw the line at trying to dress up your kid in such a way that they don't look like a child at all.

I believe that parents have the final say on this issue mainly because they are the ones purchasing the clothes and dressing up their children. And if their children are the ones who request to wear make-up for example, at only six years old, it is the parents who have every right to say "NO". But sadly, some parents don't share the same sentiments.

I was at a wedding the other day with my mum when both of us saw a pair of sisters sitting across our table dressed 30 years beyond their age.

They had a princes gown on, complete with makeup (and we're talking mascara, blusher, lipstick, the whole nine yards), a handbag, a pair of dangling (!!!) earrings, a bejeweled hair band and get this: gold necklace and earrings.

They both look like a bad attempt at dressing up as a Boyanese (fun fact: Boyanese love their gold jewelry) princess during Halloween. And I'm being nice here.

My mum however is more brutal with her observations.

"Why are the two girls dressed up like a Mak Nenek? The mother stupid or what?" my mum loudly exclaimed.

"Mum I think the mother heard you," I whispered, hitting my mother's leg from under the table.

"So? Let them. I mean, children should look like children, not like their mothers!" my mum rambled on.

"You've got a point," I smiled.

The mother of the two girls started to give us wary looks, as if suddenly realizing that we are talking about her.

"They think cute is it? Oh, like trying to make their kids models lah wear this and that. But the children so ugly how to become model? And then they uglify their kids further with makeup and gaudy fashion wear!"

"Mum! Stop, that's so mean," I hushed at her.

"Oh! A Son Of A Peach is telling me that I am mean? What double standard!"

Slowly after, the mother of the two girls stood up and motioned for them to follow her.

As the two girls were walking, my mum said something that made the mother turned and glared at us.

"Oh my god the two girls are wearing heels! I thought it couldn't get any worse! Very Mak Nenek!" my mum squealed loudly.

I immediately took out my phone and pretended to test. And you think I am the bitchy one in the family.

Hari Raya For WAGs

Well, I suppose it's only right that I do a Hari Raya post, and that too on the 12th day.

I have been immensely busy with work and brainstorming ideas for videos with SGAG (which I hope you guys are enjoying thoroughly) and truth be told, nothing exciting has happened during Hari Raya worthy enough to warrant a blog post.

Between my mum fussing over what to wear on a weekly basis to pesky relatives asking me when I'm going to get married (cause I don't know, maybe they drive some kind of sick pleasure from asking the same goddamn question year after year) to me stuffing my face a record of six times in one short day, my Hari Raya have been fairly low key and free of drama (bawling my eyes out for forgiveness not included).

Oh I'm so sorry, how rude. Here's wishing all my Muslim readers a blessed Syawal and may this Hari Raya Aidilfitri bring you nothing but happiness and love with your loved ones.

Okay now that I've gotten that (genuine) formality out of the way, let's bring to you guys what you always come to this blog for: perverse sexuality.

This came from our dear Star, who along with Steve and Melanie has their first Raya housewarming experience at my Aunt's place yesterday afternoon. My aunt had invited them over to her house because she had remembered them fondly during that one time when they came to her son's wedding and (unanimously) complemented her on her striking figure even at the age of 55.

So the four of us were sitting at the balcony, just talking when Star suddenly said, "Oooh, who's that hottie?"

I looked in her direction and turns out, she was ogling at Zafar, my 18 year old cousin.

"Star, that is Zafar. You bought him and his baby brother a chocolate bar 3 years ago when you came to my house for my mum's birthday party?"

"Oh wow! He has grown up to be such a delicious looking boy!" Star squealed.

Melanie rolled her eyes and Steve just nodded indifferently as a form of response.

"He is only 18 Star for god's sake!" I angrily hushed at her, not wanting anybody (oh god forbid) to hear to our morally unbecoming conversation.

"18 is of a legal age, what are you talking about?" Star replied, not even once taking her eyes away from Zafar.

"I think he has a girlfriend Star. With a face like that, he is either gay or attached," Steve chuckled.

"Well one thing for sure I can definitely show him things that his 18 year old girlfriend can't," Star smiled cunningly.

"All right that's it, you're freaking me out with this newfound cougar-esque morality I'm going to have more pineapple tarts!" Melanie stood up and left.

"Don't ruin a kid's life. He is a budding national footballer if you must know!" I warned Star.

"Perfect! I can be a WAG, just like that. Oh wait, this is Singapore. Oh it's fine. I can be a low rent WAG, I can settle for that," Star smiled.

"A cheap ass cougar. How refreshing," I raised my eyebrows.

Steve chuckled.

"Fuck you! Don't rain on my parade bitch!" Star slapped Steve on his left arm. Hard.

"Football field. Don't rain your your football field," I laughed.

"Jealous assed bitches," Star rolled her eyes.

"Zafar, come say hello to my friends!" I called him.

He smiled and yes it was a damn perfect smile, and walked towards us.

"Remember my friends?" I asked him.

"Yes of course! Nice to meet you again Brother Steve and Kakak Star!" he smiled.

"KAKAK?! (elder sister)" Star shouted.

Steve and I rolled on the floor laughing.

25 Versions Of Love

1) Love is waking up beside your girlfriend in the morning and trying your level best not to scream at her make-up less face.

2) Love is seeing your boyfriend wearing bermudas and Crocs to Orchard Road and not fucking him upside down there and then.

3) Love is saying"It's gorgeous" when your boyfriend presents you a crummy ring.

4) Love is asking your girlfriend "Where else you want to shop at baby?" after waiting for her to shop for 3 hours in front of Tangs.

5) Love is paying the monthly installment for your Mat's Gilera cause his NS pay is not enough.

6) Love is hearing your boyfriend butcher an Aerosmith song during a wedding and still acknowledging that you are with him afterwards.

7) Love is listening to her complain about her work for two hours and nodding your head like you actually give a shit.

8) Love is getting laid even after buying for her a fake Louis Vuitton bag.

9) Love is seeing the blood stain on your bed sheet on her "heavy flow" day and not freak out about it. At all.

10) Love is going with her to a Justin Beiber concert and wearing matching "I'm a Beleiber" t-shirt.

11) Love is seeing her non-existent breasts, cupping them with your...thumb and saying, "You're beautiful baby."

12) Love is trying hard to not shout, "As if you're a Victoria Secret's Angel!" when she asks you to work out and look like "one of them Abercrombie and Fitch boys".

13) Love is foregoing your football match with the boys to accompany her to pick  and buy a scented candle...for her toilet.

14) Love is swallowing your pride and ego when you open up your pants and she goes, "Awwww? So cute!"

15) Love is going to a soccer match at the stadium...and bringing her along.

16) Love is talking to her for another hour or so after you already came.

17) Love is using up half of your NS pay to buy for her first row seats at the Big Bang concert.

18) Love is buying for her a silk sari and then have her throw it in your face saying she wanted a cotton one instead and still not setting her up on fire.

19) Love is buying for her Kotex, maxi with wings, publicly in Cold Storage, no questions asked.

20) Love is buying for him the latest Diablo game and not complaining one single bit days afterwards.

21) Love is keeping all the movie stubs you've both watched together as a couple and not use it for blackmail later on in the relationship.

22) Love is having a joint bank account, before marriage.

23) Love is sitting in the passenger seat as she drives and keeping your mouth absolutely shut throughout the entire destination.

24) Love is seeing the toiler cover flipped open and not screaming.

25) Love is telling your parents that you're forking our 3/4 of the wedding expenses because he's between jobs.

Oh How Cute!

"Do you know or have seen any ugly babies before in your life?" Star asked out of the blue during supper three days ago.

"Steve?" she asked. Steve shook his head vehemently.

"Mel?" she continued asking.

"Aren't all babies supposed to be cute? In a baby kinda way?" Melanie replied, face scrunched up.

"And before you ask me, yes I do believe in the existence of ugly babies but no, I have not had the rotten opportunity to witness it with my own eyes," I said without any prompting from Star whatsoever.

Something must be up.

"Why the sudden question? Something must be up," Steve said, taking the words right out of my head.

"Nothing..." Star's voice went soft.

"Oh please, what is it about? Just share!" Melanie goaded.

"No, nothing. It's someone else's kid. That would be mean," Star smiled weakly, obviously trying hard to be virtuous or morally upright; which I don't know.

"Star being thoughtful and sensitive doesn't suit you one bit," I said, in the most condescending tone I could possibly muster.

"Fine!" Star said, raising her arms.

"That's my girl," I teased. Star kicked my legs from under the table. Hard.

"There is this colleague of mine who just gave birth to a baby girl and she can't stop showing pictures of her baby to me at work. I thought the assault would end when I am at home, safe within the four walls of my room. But I was wrong. I log on Facebook and Instagram and that damn baby face floods my news feed. And she keeps sending this annoying mass messages with a link to some cute baby contest one after the other. And have I told you that the baby is ugly? Yes, it is UGLY! I have never seen such a hairy baby in my entire life. It's like this furball with a scary ugly face attached to it. How do I tell her that she needs to stop building mental images inside my head that i bring to my dreams without sounding like an asshole?" Star rattled on.

A heavy sigh followed afterwards. You could tell she kept it for too long and needed that release to make herself feel better.

"Oh I can so imagine how traumatizing it is for you to continue lying through your teeth everyday and go on saying things like "Oh how cute!" and "That's adorable!" every time she shoves her baby's photo in your face," Melanie said.

"It can't be that ugly. I think you're just exaggerating," Steve added.

Star quickly fished out her phone from her Celine tote and logged on to Facebook, face intent. She covered her phone screen and told us, "You guys ready?"

Star uncovered her phone screen and Melanie's eyes widened and Steve actually yelped a little.

"Eeeuw what is that?" Melanie commented, a pained expression on her face.

"Okay I take back my words, that is one ugly looking baby. What happened? It's like one of those black magic gone wrong things. Oh shit, I feel bad now for your colleague," Steve said.

On my part, I actually wasn't as shocked at the grotesqueness of the baby but at the fact that I am using the word grotesque to describe a baby. This is so wrong on so many levels but let's just say that Star's not going to be the only one who is going to be having nightmares from that day on.

Switching It Up

One of the biggest stories to hit our ridiculously humid, foreigner infested land is a rather controversial (hilarious, really) news of a baby mix up from Kandang Kerbau Hospital. You know, the hospital that hold the Guinness World Book of Records for highest number of deliveries recorded in a year, or something like that. I don't know what it was really, I hate kids.

So as usual, the trending news on Facebook for the past 48 hours have been about the baby mix up and people are pointing fingers at the hospital administration and it's negligence. The babies have been returned to the correct mothers and it's rightful vagina but people are still talking about it as though it was their vagina that went through 18 hours of contractions.

This incident somewhat made me think about the possibility of it happening in my family. What if I belonged to another set of parents and have been mixed up as a baby, being raised by my current set of parents unknowingly? And then I think of how I inherited my mum's OCD and how I went through my growing up years with literally thousands of, "You look exactly like your father!"; I am far from being a mixed up baby. Damn it, I would kill to be mixed up at birth and end up with say, Steve's parents.

"I won't be able to handle your mother though. I can't imagine growing up with a woman like your mother," Steve said yesterday afternoon over dinner at Marché.

"Why? You'd grow up to be just like me," I said.

"Exactly," Melanie replied, sipping her mushroom soup.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I raised my voice, defensively.

"Nothing! Did I say anything? I didn't!" Melanie defensively replied back.

"I say this from the bottom of my heart. Your mum is the best Harry, she really is. But I don't think I can handle that much character and sassiness all under the same roy. I can't imagine how I would grow up to be like," Steven said, smiling.

"Like Harry," Melanie answered.

"Mel stop it! At least I grew up from a baby boy to a young male and to a man. I can't say the same thing about you," I replied.

"See? Just like his mother, full of character and sassiness, with a capital A-S-S," Melanie sweetly said. I threw my napkin at her.

"What I cannot understand is how come the babies can be mixed up in the first place?" Star suddenly said, totally off topic.

Star has a tendency of doing this. Unlike most women, she is unable to mentally multi task. When she is thinking about something, a topic for example, her brains cannot process any other foreign or new thoughts, ideas or topics until she is down self-processing the one currently in her head. So what you get is a spaced out girl who more than often babble away about something that is totally deviated from the topic at hand or have been concluded minutes ago. That is Star for you.

"I'm sorry?" Steven asked.

"What I can't understand is how come the babies can be mixed up in the first place. Unless of course it is Chinese babies. Chinese babies all look the same, you can't tell them apart. It's impossible," Star said, biting her tuna sandwich.

All the three of us looked at her.

"What?" Star innocently asked. "You know it's true!" she continued.

"That is very, very racist," Melanie said, a pained expression on her face.

"And very, very true," Star said, tilting her head and raising her shoulders.

Ah, what would I do without them?

Meet The Parents, Later.

My mum, as far as I know it, is one of the most understanding and open minded mothers I know (and trust me, I've known quite a fair bit of mothers). My mum is a big proponent of "trust" and "knowing your limits". Very, very fierce when we were growing up but the moment I turned 14, never once I felt that my self worth and privacy was being compromised or infringed by my mother. She trusted me and she made me understand my limits and in turn, I grew up to be a responsible, fairly well behaved kid and I understood the value of trust.

My limits were simple: You can do anything you want, as long as it does not bring shame to your family. I wouldn't say say that I am a good son, but I never gave her any reason to worry. And I think that is the best thing you can give your parents while growing up, don't you think so? A peace of mind is priceless and much less tedious to attain than say, good grades. Besides, tell me how Pythagoras Theorem helped you to get laid?

Alright, I am digressing into the usual territory but my point is, my mum's understanding, and open mindedness is something that I truly appreciate and it is present in my formative years from pre teen, to an adult now. Which is why I am dumbfounded when my mum flipped out at Harold when he decided to bring his girlfriend of six months back home for dinner to meet the family.

"Aren't you too young to have a girlfriend?" my mum raised her voice when Harold told her the news a couple of weeks back.

"Mum, he is 21. Stop it. In some countries, at that age he could already be a father of four," I said in his defense.

"Or if I am a mat rep and my wife is a minah, " Harold joked.

We both laughed. My mum however wasn't the very least amused.

"Where did you pick her up?" my mum asked, face stern.

"Get to know. Not pick up. She is not a piece of clothing you pick up in a departmental store," Harold corrected her.

"Oh? Defending her already? You chose a girl over your own mother?" my mum sniffed.

"Oh my god," I said, covering my face with both of my palms.

"I am the one who gave birth to you, who brought you into this world and yet you pick a girl you barely know over me?" my mum continued, not missing a beat.

"Mum, stop it! Where is this drama coming from?!" Harold said, exasperated.

"It's in there all along," I said, face still covered.

"I have not even brought the girl home and you are already reacting like this. How is any of your sons going to get married with this kind of attitude from you? And then you complain when we don't bring girls back and bemoan over and over again about how you are not lucky enough to see your sons getting married and being a grandmother," Harold said.

"That is very true. I brought two, two girls home, and yet she wasn't the very least happy," I chipped in.

"Shut up Harry! One of them is not even a real girl!" my mum chided me, fork pointing in my direction. "Is she a virgin?" my mum asked.

Harold chocked on his grape juice.

A "yes" reply would be followed by a "How do you know? You have slept with her already haven't you?" and a "no" reply would be followed by a "How do you know? You have slept with her already haven't you?" Smart woman.

"I'm not bringing her home okay? Happy?" Harold said, giving up.

"I didn't say anything. It is your decision," my mum said, a tinge of relief in her voice.

"I'm just going to elope somewhere one of these days and get married and you won't even know about it," Harold threatened.

"You wouldn't dare honey," my mum said sweetly, smiling and clearing the table away.

The Art Of Gifting

Christmas is only a month and a half away so let me take this opportunity to address the issue that is "The Art Of Gifting". I think it is an absolutely important skill that needs to be practiced and harnessed because let's face it: 99% of Singaporeans give shitty gifts. They do. And we need to stop spending (Wasting, really) our money by buying shitty gifts that is of little or no use for people that matter to us. It reflects bad on your taste (if you have any left in their eyes) and your common sense, in most occasions where gifting is considered part of the practice.

About a week ago, my Aunt Sally and her husband, who we call Uncle Brad celebrated their 28th wedding anniversary. Aunt Sally is a fantastic gifted; she bought for her husband a Dunhill money clip and a limited edition John Varvatos cologne because a, Uncle Brad refuses to carry his wallet around when he goes out and he already has a cardholder and b, he has been using his Aramis cologne for the past twenty years and Aunt Sally says that it is starting to make her lose her sense of smell. The gifts bought is perfect for Uncle Brad, something classy AND something that he definitely would use.

It was a small family gathering and Aunt Sally cooked her legendary Beef Shepherd's Pie and Garlic Butter Prawns Linguine. Uncle Brad was ecstatic with his gifts and to say that Aunt Sally has raised the standard of gifting is to put it mildly. It was Uncle brad's turn to present his gift to his lovely wife and I could almost feel the tension in the room multiplying by ten; Aunt Sally is known to be absolutely critical and fussy, she is the difficult one, my mum is the bitch. Bless my grandparent's souls.

We were all sitting down around the living room and Aunt Sally opened her present; a big box covered in grey gift wrap with black ribbons. My Aunt Sally opened it and immediately screamed, "What the hell is this?!" My mum immediately muttered under her breath, "Uh oh."

It was a karaoke set: A disc player that already has 2000 songs stored inside, and two microphones.

"You don't like it?" Uncle Brad asked. Harold leaned over to snap a picture of the karaoke set to upload in Instagram. Pure comedy gold.

"Do I sing? Am I a singer? Do I look like Donna Summers?" Aunt Sally asked, raising both her eyebrows and her voice.

"That's my Instagram caption right there: Do I sing? Am I a singer? Do I look like Donna Summers?" Harold whispered as he sat back down beside me.

"Well you are always singing, in the showers, while cooking, hanging the laundry. I thought it would be a good idea to get you a karaoke box set and you can sing to your heart's content! Who knows, you may even win the singing competition at the community centre one of these days!" Uncle Brad joked.

"Brad, I will shove this microphone inside of you and I am not talking about your mouth!" Aunt Sally fumed.

Harold and I rolled on the floor laughing. Rick, their newly married son who was seated quietly all throughout suddenly burst out laughing, "Mum! Where did that come from?"

The point I am getting at is, the "Art Of Gifting" is a necessary life (and respect) changing skill. The rule of the thumb for me when buying a gift is, before buying it, always, always, always choose practicality/usage value above everything else. The best gifts are usually not the most pretty, the most expensive, the most romantic or the most value for money.

For me personally, the best gifts are those that the recipients would need and use rather frequently in their lives. And every time they use it, they would be reminded of you. And isn't that the whole point of gifting; for remembrance?

So the next time you want to buy a gift for someone, always remember to ask yourself whether the gift is going to be of any use or is it just going to collect dust inside someone's closet beside one of the One Direction boys (pun intended). And if the recipient you are intending to buy the gift for has everything already, treat him or her to a nice expensive dinner and ask them to shut the hell up. It beats having to receive a karaoke set box.

Middle Class Wedding

The past weekend was my cousin Rick's wedding. He got married to Liz, his girlfriend of four years and if the scented wedding invitation card with their own personal emblem is an indication of the grandeur that is going to happen during the wedding itself, then they sure didn't disappoint.

It was a garden wedding and the venue was at the Botanic Gardens. They had two huge canopies and in the shelter were round tables with white tablecloths and lace skirtings, complete with rattan chairs and giant white bows. There were fresh flowers everywhere: Roses, lilies, tulips, orchids, carnations; everything was fresh and in white. And in abundance too. Beside the canopies were three rows of tables filled with at least five different types of cakes, eclairs, cupcakes, cheese fondue, chocolate fondue (complete with artisan breads and fresh flowers), fruit punch and a mind boggling array of hor d'oeuvres.

"Where is the real food?" my mum quipped, staring at the buffet table from afar.

"Mum, it's chic, get yourself together," I said.

"What kind of a middle class family can afford this kind of wedding? Since when did they become rich?!" my mum exclaimed as we were walking towards the venue.

"Stop it lah," my brother Harold said, getting annoyed.

There was also a carousel by the side of the buffet table for the kids to play at, generator included. The dress code was smart casual and my mum had put on a knee length white dress, grey pumps and hair up in a bun.

"How come you are wearing white? You are getting married too?" Harold joked when he saw my mum earlier that day.

"Garden wedding, I'm wearing grey pumps and I have to walk on grass, in the blithering heat!" my mum complained, tiptoeing to one of the canopies.

It was rather hot when we got there. I could feel beads of sweat forming at my back underneath my shirt and linen jacket by the time we got a table. Across us was Aunt Sally, the lady of the hour, entertaining guests. She wore a maroon sleeveless dress and a chunky bracelet and a statement necklace. She was also wearing a turban. Parisian chic if you ask me.

"Look at your aunt. She looks like Carmen Miranda, god this is embarassing," my mum whispered beside me as we sat down.

"Where are the fruits on her head?" I goaded.

"There, on the buffet table," my mum nonchalantly said.

I laughed out so hard everybody around us looked.

"Oi, stop it lah both of you," my brother hushed, clearly annoyed now.

"You guys help yourself to the food, I am going to check on your aunt and check the wedding dais," my mum said, putting down her LV Speedy on the table.

My brother rose and made his way to the buffet table and I asked him to get for me some food as well. Barely two minutes later, my mum came to our table, shaking and breathing hard.

"You have no idea how much they spent on this wedding. A quarter of a million dollars! Harry, when did they rose from the middle class? And so quick?! He bought for her a thirty thousand diamond ring from Tiffany's and the wedding gown is a Vera Wang!" my mum rattled on.

"Mum, he is an investment banker and she is an architect. They are hardly middle class. Middle class is fifty dollar void deck weddings ma. And also, you're so jealous right now right?" I asked.

"I am not! Your Aunt Sally is one of my favourite female siblings," my mum said.

"Aunt Sally is your ONLY female sibling what are you talking about?" I responded, amused.

"Harry, she looks ridiculous," my mum poured.

"She looks great, why can't you just be happy for her?" I advised.

"We are siblings. We are supposed to be judgmental, conniving and egoistical," my mum explained. "And I would hate to see her daughter in law look bad in a Vera Wang!" she continued.