So after we were given the unfortunate news that we would not be able to disembark the ship, I was very disappointed. I told my cousin that the only way they could make it up to me, was if Jack Sparrow pulled a rabbit out of his hat... or pants... whatever. And so we decided to look for alternative forms of entertainment.
When we boarded the ship on the very first day, we all agreed on two things: 1) That we would make the most of the trip which meant no arguing /fighting / fussing and 2) What happens in the Bermuda Triangle, stays in the Bermuda Triangle...a phrase coined by one of my cousins.
There were a number of people who were somewhat instrumental on our little journey into yonder and we named them all for our convenience. There was Jack Sparrow, the cute dancer donning his little pirate hat. There was Megan Fox, the doppelganger who was a part of our little dance crew. As well as Wayne Parnell, Kurt Darren and a few others - not their real names but hey, who has time for real names when daydreaming, lounging and introspection becomes a full time job.
And then there were the men. Lots of men in the form of crew and sailors... Rodrigo, Ricardo, Roberto... the kind of men who inspire poetry. Honestly I think it's the lapels. I can't understand exactly why, but it must be the lapels. Nothing else can explain why we all found this so irresistible:
I reckon that any man can wear this uniform and look good, that's how amazing it is.
Days went by with sporadic call outs from each of us: "Dibs on the Cuban"... "Dibs on the Spaniard"..."Dibs on Wayne Parnell"... even though we weren't really interested in any of them.
Shhh, don't tell my sis she's famous...
And then one day I had an encounter with Lorenzo. See, I was all dressed up for the tropical evening. I wore my silk dress, my hair a damp mass of curls fresh from the shower. I was glowing and lathered in Body Shop's Morrocco Argan Oil and Orange Blossom Body Soufflé (which is French for lotion) with a hint of Dolce and Gabbana's Light Blue. I smelled so good I wanted to lick myself.
So there I was, looking good, smelling great, and as confident as ever. I wanted to go out on deck and watch all the sailors move the deck chairs and tables out of the way in preparation of the evenings festivities (really, it's better than Bingo). So anyway, I got to the door to go out on deck and that's when I saw him. He was fixing something on the door (honestly, I don't know what the hell he was doing, it just looked important) and for a moment I became somewhat mesmerised with it all and my dress caught on a sharp end of one of the hinges.
Still too spellbound to notice, I continued walking away tugging absent-mindedly when I heard something that sounded vaguely like fabric being ripped to shreds. Turned out, it was a significant part of my dress that tore through the side and unbeknownst to me at the time and as Murphy would have it, I had at least 40 pairs of Sailor eyes on me.
Completely MORTIFIED that half of the ship probably saw things I'd rather they hadn't seen (exaggerating, just a few passengers and most of the crew) I made a dash for a change. But my little stint wasn't forgotten (obviously, this is me we're talking about) and I soon found many friendly faces amongst the crowd.
Say Cheese Julian
What was completely surprising about it all was that Lorenzo wasn't even one of the pretty ones. He was an ordinary middle-aged man, greying slightly at the sides and his face looked weathered, as if he'd spent too much of his life working on the ship. For some reason I wanted to talk to him, but since I'm severely allergic to married men and didn't know his status, I was hesitant and decided not to.
See, this is how it is for us sane single folk. In the deserts of life, married men are the cactus with long ass thorns that draw blood. And we're not looking for blood, pain or tears. What we want is an oasis with trees and shade and fresh water with dates and green pastures to snooze on.
Most of the time,"married" means "dead"
But as fate would have it, I eventually did have a conversation with him a day later (and no he's not married) and after days of walking around in a haze either seasick drunk or reflecting in the night sky, I came to the following conclusions about men, my life, and the men in my life:
- I haven't been completely honest with myself and others when it comes to voicing what I want.
- MIL was right when she told Mother that she didn't think we'd get partners within the SA Asian community.
- Mother was probably right when she told MIL that she half expects us to wed white men.
- There's no amount of beauty that can compensate for a good chuckle. I need humour in my life.
- I am drawn to intelligent men.
- Younger men seem to irritate me more and more as I get older - with their immaturity and frivolity (and horrendous manners).
- Older (single) men have officially won me over.
- I'm really not the sharpest tool in the cultural box. Someone said something about Ras Malai and I was like "Whats that?"
- I can no longer entertain meaningless conversations. So Goodbye to Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
- I'm looking for longevity... something substantial and sustainable. Not another Rodrigo that struts around like a peacock, demanding his feathers be admired (even though they're worthy of being admired).
- I finally know what I want.
- I'm finally ready for something more.
- I think I've finally grown up.
Now anyone know where I can buy one of those sailor suits?