A Tale of Two Dogs?

I’ve had some requests recently from people who want to know more about the Froofster. I’m all about giving my adoring public what they want, babeses. People luv dog photos, right? Much hilariation.

So, here are a few pix of her.

This is her right before she peed on the chestnut Chesterfield:

This is her right after she peed on the chestnut Chesterfield:

This is her at the Tanjong Beach Club:

As you can see, she’s a lovely dog really. I have decided to send her on an assertiveness training course next year, so that she can find strategies for managing Milly’s behaviour towards her. Now that I have found a solution, I feel much more relaxed about the whole thing. Phewy : )

On another phewy note, you will recall, dear avid reader, that I ran into Will last Saturday in the lift at Marina Bay Sands. I just played it cool, taking group selfies of me and the hot mummies who came to Milly’s bday after-party. Once we got to the 57th floor, Will said, “EJ, could I speak to you for a second?”

So as not to look dodgy in front of the mummies, I replied loudly, “Yes, we do need to discuss your firm’s sponsorship of the next event for the Singapore International Women and Trailing Spouses’ Association”, and excused myself from the ladies.

We found a quietish table at Ku Dé Ta, and Will proceeded to tell me that he felt bad about blanking me the other night, and he hadn’t wanted to do that, but Michelle, his wifey, has turned a corner with her drinking and they’re working on their marriage. Sweet, I thought. That’s nice.

“So”, he said, standing up and holding out his hand to shake mine, “That’s it. Friends?”

I shook his hand, and gave him my pretty Kate Middleton smile, saying, “Oh abso totes! Friends!!”

Because of my high empathy quotient, I saw that it was really difficult for him to talk about our relationship. And anyway, nothing actually happened or ever would have. I was quite clear about that, right, dear readers? Yup.

So, I was a little taken abackski when, later that evening, I saw him deep in conversation with a woman I didn’t recognise. An Asian woman. Then I remembered that he has a much younger step-sister who is half Chinese, half American. She has probably come to stay with them for Christmas. It’s that time of year, right?

Mummy’s visit is going really well, despite her continued fraternisation with the help. I am looking forward to our trip to Boracay (Mummy’s coming too) because we are very much not bringing the helper – no need as the kids’ club at our hotel is world-renowned for never having to spend time with your kids – so that I can have some quality time with la Mammita.

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Mummy’s Expat Visit

Well, it has been an idyllic few days, now that Mummy is with us, in the bosom of our happy little family. Except Friday, that is. Her first full day here, I was really terribly ill, so I had to stay in bed until dinner time. I totes don’t know what was wrong, but I was completes knocked for sixes. It can’t have been the sangria because nothing red ever disagrees with me due to the de facto fact that red things synergise with my hair. Perhaps it was a 12-hour mini-bout of the dreaded mycoplasma. I just don’t know.

My absence was no prob though. It turns out that Mummy, too, has a new BFF: our helper! Argh!! Embarrassando!!! I hope it won’t get out among the Singas Expaterati. (I can see from my WordPress stats that I have almost no readers in Singapore, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.)

Although Mummy visited us twice previously, it was when we had our old helper, Maria, so she hadn’t met the current one. Unfortunately, we had to let Maria go. The problem was that Milly’s first word was “Maria”. Lordy knows, I tried to overlook the matter, I really did. I thought for a long while that Milly had a speech impediment (inherited from Don, presumably), and that she was trying to say, “Mummy”, but it kept coming out as, “Maria”. Eventually it became clear that this was not at all the case. So Maria had to go. I didn’t tell the children (or Maria, until the cab had arrived to take her to the airport while Max and Mills were at school), and I immediately hired a replacement who met my requirements, including lactation. I can’t bear the sight of clinging, crying children. It super upsets me.

Anyhoo, back to the now.

For some reason, Mummy had reverse jetlag, and woke up on Friday morning full of beans, and raring to go. Once the children were packed off, Mummy asked the helper if she could give her a refresher tour of a few places: China Town, Arab Street, and Little India. They also did the fab boat ride from Robertson Quay down to the Merlion, and somehow managed to squeeze in lunch at… wait for it… a Philippine restaurant at Lucky Plaza!!! Utter weirdness, given how many fabulous eateries there are here. She hadn’t let on, but apparently my mother has been learning Tagalog in her extremely ample free time. What now, now?!!

So the disgraceful upshot is, she and the help are bezzie mates, which I find mega-inappropes, and I know you’ll agree with me, dear readers (comments always welcome, PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU TO COMMENT. WHAT DO YOU WANT, BLOOD?!!). I only heard about all of this when I sashayed down the stairs in my negligée on Friday evening, to find the two of them and the children in fits of laughter, speaking Tagalog! Mummy started to reel off the details of their day, and I told the helper, in no uncertain terms, to get back to work, and put Max and Milly to bed immediately. Froo Froo dog looked as relieved as I felt, once the irritants had been spirited away to the upper floors. I couldn’t have all that loud laughing and speaking helper-lingo. The adjoining courtyards in shophouses create a noise vacume, and we have highly auspicious neighbours on both sides because that’s the type of person who lives in my area. What would they think??

I considered having a word with Mummy to explain that this new found friendship of hers is totes not on, but then she produced all the stuff I’d asked her to get me from Harvey Nix, and I remembered what a sweet and doting mummy she truly is. I suggested going out for a slap-upski dinner somewhere, my treat, but bless her, her reverse jetlag had re-reversed itself, and she said she needed to get her beauty sleep. And from what I saw, she really mega did.

We finished our lovely chat about everything she had brought for me – we bond so well over Alexander McQueen – and she tootled off to bed in our Shangrila guest room. I wasn’t tired though, and the mini-mycoplasma had miraculously cleared up. I checked Facebook and saw that CJ was at a bar on my street (he’s an avid FB poster, which I LUUUUV), so I popped on some slap and killer heels, and off I went for another night of the usuo awesome fun-ness. I knew I couldn’t be out too late because of Milly’s birthday party the next day, but I can totes hold my bevvies, so two bars and a pool party later I can honestly say that I was FINE when I got home at 4. About 4. It was probably 4.

Mills’ party in the kiddie area of the Marina Bay Sands casino was nothing short of the best Expaterati kiddie party everrrrr. All of my genius fantastico plans worked out exactly as strategised, and the glam mummies in attendance so obvioso knew that the bar has now been raised to FEEERGET IT, IT’S IMPOSS TO BEAT THIS, BABY!!!! It was written all over their faces. Who says that botulism prevents authentic expression?? I’m so intuitive and empathic though, perhaps only I could have picked it up. (If I become a celebrity instead of a life coach, will all my wisdom be wasted? Shame, as my beautiful mucho-loved South African moved to Canada friend would say. Mwa Mwa, luv ya!)

The party was amazebobs, and probably the best one of the decade past, as well as the decade to come. At 6 PM the children (and my mother) got shipped out in limos and SUVs, so that the mummies could have a proper chat about helpers, husbands, handbags, and holidays. I’d booked an after-party table at Ku Dé Ta, which, according to my sources, was supposed to be next to where David Becks was dining. The Beckster was nowhere to be seen, but who should I encounter in the lift up..? The doors swooshed open at the 33rd floor, and there stood Will.

I’m so exhausto now that I can barely type. I’ll have to get back to you about what happened Sat night. Plus Don just got home from his trip, so I’d better go be the wifey. You know what I’m saying, Expaterati ladeeees!!!!

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