This is Very Embarassing

by shz

I wrote this three years ago. When I wrote it, it was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me so far. Last Saturday something happened that now it made to number two. Here I am now writing about number one.

You see, I had always thought that I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t give a crap about what people think of me. I kept forcing the idea to my husband. Kept telling my little sister the same thing and was sure am gonna teach my daughter that too. I mean, it will be a long life if you’re restricted all the time with what people might think of you. I don’t know what has happened to me, maybe I’ve gone matured, older or wiser. Or maybe I’m no fun anymore now that I’m nearing 30. Still, there are times when I would just thought, the hell with it. But not last Saturday. Certainly not that Saturday night.

We got an invitation from an important client to attend their annual dinner. We were both reluctant since I was just recovering from an awful flu and the guy got a Man U match that night. Reluctantly I moved myself up from my comfy bed and he did the same from his comfy sofa. Reluctantly we picked out what to wear. I put on a black maxi skirt with this nice top I got from Bangsar two weeks ago. Then he commented, maybe I should put on something more formal, like baju kurung instead. Reluctantly I put on this pretty hand drawn batik dress with chiffon top and matching silk skirt. I thought, wow I looked nice. The last time I wore this was when I was pregnant and had forgotten I even had it. I also had my Bimba & Lola sky high wedges that lifted me up, with matching colored scarf, Dior clutch bag and some glittering bangles, I felt like I haven’t dressed up so nicely like this in awhile!

I was really putting on the effort. I mean, with all these while coming to the meetings in my jeans and casual top, I really wanted people to see the girly side of me. Fakhrul on the other hand was looking sharp too, in his slim cut trousers and new looking, slightly fitted Gap shirt, he looked different. Confidently we walked side by side from the basement, to the lift and exited at the second floor where the Grand Ballroom was and the lift doors opened directly where the people were gathering.

Oh.My.God – it was a Wild Wild West themed party.

We couldn’t turn back, too many people knew us and one of them greeted us right away. You can only imagine what I feel. I might as well just turn up in my pyjamas I was so comfortable in few hours ago. I might as well just turn up in a bunny suit like Bridget Jones. I might as well just turn up naked. I was swearing inside and never again I thought, will I trust my husband with the invitation again. The general manager immediately greeted me with a question, “Where is your cowboy hat?!” I swear I was this close of taking off hers and put it on my head. I couldn’t believe it – how could such a corporate establishment hold an annual dinner with a theme that is only appropriate for birthday parties of kids not passing the age of three?! And what’s worst, we arrived quite late and were seated right in front at the VIPs table. So with the room’s full, I had to catwalk from the back to the front, parading my apparently pretty batik dress with everyfrigginbody watching me. That was way beyond embarrassing. I might as well just fall off from a camel head first and bury my head in the sand for the eighth time still it wouldn’t be as embarrassing.

I had to suck it up, for a good one hour while all the speeches were given. One of them then asked me to judge their karaoke competition, where I’ll have to be seated on the stage. No freaking way – of course I rejected politely. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the dinner was buffet. And the food is way back where I came in. I thought – that’s it! The only time I’m moving my ass from my chair is when I’m heading home. So Fakhrul had to bring the food for me, while I stuck at the table with a cowboy who sat so close to me our legs kept brushing each other. And Fakhrul as usual did take his time mingling while picking food. Every time I glanced back, all these girls with their ridiculous apache feathered head gears looked like I was in a wrong party. Damn right I was!

I couldn’t wait. As soon as I finished with nasi ayam with the dry chicken, we excused ourselves. It was just too unbearable. They were going to start with the karaoke or whatever for all I care. And I for one can’t be bothered to stay while looking like a glittering mak Datin. And so we left and hell broke loose in the car. Unrationally I blamed Fakhrul for even suggesting formal dressing that I so reluctantly wanted to put on.

Yeah, I guess I gave a shit this time because of the fact that I’m going to see these people again. They’re not some strangers with 0.8% chance of ever bumping onto each other later in the future. For sure I’ll be labeled that architect who couldn’t be bothered to read the invitation. Or that girl who glammed up in our dressed down party. One thing for sure, I’m sending someone else to represent me for the next two meetings or so while I recover from this embarrassment.