In the Heat of the Expat BBQ Moment

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Well, thank eff it’s Monday. It has NOT been a fabulous expat weekend. Happy Mother’s Day?? I don’t think so.

Saturday’s BBQ for Don’s birthday was technically awesome, thanks to moi. The Stoke BBQ delivery people made me look like the hostess with the mostestes, as did the caterers, dressed up in gourmet sausage costumes. The chunes were bangin. Michelle’s vajazzling was a tad blinding due to her (frankly excessively) low bikini pant, but no one complained. Quite the reverse, bizarrely. I saw her handing out her business cards. Shameless self-promotion just sickens me, as you know, dear readers.

Froo Froo Dog looked stunning in her dokini. Now that she has learned to assert herself, thanks to the dog therapy, she has really come into her own. I looked as amazebobs as the dog (if only Don could have seen beyond Liz. OK, Don my love, you want vagenitical cunticulitis, you can have it!!).

It was all perfect until late in the night (so I am told, but it can’t be truesome), when I supposedly grabbed Liz by the throat, and growled, “You filthy beep with your gaping infected beep! I know what you’re up to!!”

Allegedly, I then proceeded to use language unbefitting of an expat wife in polite company, informing her that she was not welcome in my home and that she must depart tout de suite.

This sounds so unlike me that I am certain it didn’t happen. Having no recollection of the night (just a spot of totes normal amnesia, nothing crazy or anything, and I only had a teensy bit to drink), and not wanting to ask my friends, or god forbid, the caterers, I messaged Will yesterday. He came up with these ridic assertions.

So it was Will who reported them to me, and it was Will who told me about Liz and Don in the first place. How can I possibly trust his testimony when he is such a filthy philanderer himself?? By the sounds of it, he is making a foul and deliberate attempt to scramble my brain, but hear me now, this brain is not for scrambling. No!!

Anyway, for some reason Don isn’t currently speaking to me, and has instead immersed himself in helping our new house-guest, Angel, to feel at home. Oh how noble!! Because I was unfortunately unable to rise yesterday morning, he took the kids out to show Angel around the local area, ie most of the island. I believe they brunched at Dempsey, and dinnered in Tiong Bahru, but I don’t know what went on in between.

The fact that Angel eats at all astounds the hell out of me. She’s a 5’11 bamboo pole. I’m totes not jealous, but what a 16-year-old is doing in possession of legs like hers is utterly beyond me. (What has she done to earn those legs?! Nothing!!!) According to what she told me today at breakfast, as she ate the white of a single boiled egg, she had “a nice day yesterday”, and “kinda” likes it here. She has said nothing about the events of Saturday night, so I’ll assume she must have gone to bed and missed my alleged outburst, if it occurred at all, which it probably didn’t.

She started at the Australian School today, and hopefully she’ll just make a ton of friends, get on with whatevs these kids do, and stay mostly out of my hair for as long as she’s with us. I totes don’t need another stress in my hair at the mo, dear readers. I’m at the salon right now, having my colour boost (colour that just enhances the natural colour, so it’s not like my hair isn’t naturally this colour), and keratin treatment. After my five hours here, I’ll be “going to the dentist” wink wink. Expat Dental does Botox now : )

I’m ahead of schedule for my usual appointment with Lady B, but there’s something super-unsettling about having a wrinkle-free teenager in da house, and much as I tried, I couldn’t chant or yogue my way through those feelings. (Come on, Yogue! Why didn’t Madonna go there? I should totes do an awesome yoguing vlog, if only I had the time.)

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Froo Froo & her Expaterati Dogerati girlies in their dokinis

6 thoughts on “In the Heat of the Expat BBQ Moment

  1. Pingback: Is the Term “Expat” Really Reserved for Whities?? | Diary of an Expat Somebody

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