My friend sets me up on a blind date with a friend of hers. She describes her as a good match for me so I agree to go.

On the date, the girl is distant. When she actually speaks, she is very disagreeable, announcing her opinion rather than making a discussion. We end the date with general pleasantries, and I pay and leave with no mention of going any further.

I don’t see my friend for a few days, but when I do, the first thing she wants to know is:

Friend: “How did it go?”

Me: “She seemed nice, but no spark.”

Friend: “Really? She was saying that she had an amazing time and hopes to see you again.”

Me: “She spent our whole date on her phone and wouldn’t make any conversation, at all.”

Friend: “She can be shy at times, but she really seemed to like you. She has struggled to find a guy she gets on with. Give her another chance.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m not sure.”

Friend: “Come on! She has even picked out a restaurant. I might have mentioned that you have been wanting to go to [Steakhouse] for ages.”

Me: “Well, that is true.”

Friend: “Great! I will tell her you’re free.”

I’m not sure if I agree because I want to go, because I want steak, or because my friend pushes me into it. But a week or so later, I meet the girl again at the steakhouse.

Again, she spends pretty much the whole date on her phone or eating in silence. I make conversation where I can and ask about her hobbies, holidays, and ambitions, but I get one- or two-word replies, and she doesn’t ask anything of me.

She only seems to smile when she drinks her champagne. 

Fed up, I eat my meal and go to the bar to order drinks.

Me: “Can I pay for my meal here?”

Bartender: “Sure, that one over there?”

Me: “Yeah, but can I just pay for my half?”

Bartender: “Bad date?”

Me: “You have no idea. I will let her know.”

Bartender: “Probably best if you let us handle it. She has been in here before. She often throws her drink at the guy; sometimes it’s still in the glass. Back door is that way.”

I thanked him and disappeared. My friend swore she didn’t know when she set me up. But I still haven’t been on a blind date since.

It’s 1988 or 1989. During the lunch break, I am talking with three other girls in my class. We are all sixteen years old. [Girl #1] has been watching too many American high school movies and thinks she is the queen bee in the class. She isn’t. We don’t have one.

Girl #1: *Looking smug* “My new boyfriend has a car.”

We all look at her oddly. You can’t get a driver’s license until you are eighteen. At this time, there is a 180% luxury tax and then 25% VAT on new cars, so none of us know any eighteen-year-olds who own a car.

Girl #2:  “A car? How old is he?”

Girl #1: *Proudly* “Twenty-six!”

Me: “Gaaah!”

Girl #2: “Eeeeew!”

Girl #3: “Whaaaat?”

Me: “What the h*** do you want with a twenty-six-year-old man?”

Girl #2: “What the h*** does a twenty-six-year-old man want with you?!“

[Girl #1] is still fiercely proud, despite our reactions.

Girl #1: “He says I am very mature for my age.”

We all give her a silent stare for a moment. We have known her for years. She is NOT mature for her age; the queen bee thing, among other things, is a good example. [Girl #1] seems to understand the silence correctly, as she is now going quiet.

Girl #2: “Can you imagine being a twenty-six-year-old man and having to explain to your mates that you are dating a girl who is sixteen years old?”

Me: “They’ll say it’s because he can’t handle a grown-up woman.”

The age of consent in Denmark was and is fifteen, but it isn’t exactly normal to date at fifteen.

One of the boys in our class walks by and asks what we are talking about. When [Girl #2] says it is about [Girl #1] dating a twenty-six-year-old man with a car, he gives [Girl #1] a “What the f***?” look and goes away again. 

[Girl #1] broke up with the man the same day. Apparently, the main reason she was dating him was to impress the rest of us. She still thinks she was the queen bee and wants to talk about it at class reunions. It is sad, really.

For years, I’ve tried to convince my son to play golf, but despite a very promising start, he never had the interest and stopped after his crush stopped going to the golf classes. I’ve tried to drag him back a few times, but he’s been vehemently opposed, and hence, I gave up.

Ten years later, he suddenly comes out of the blue and asks if I still have his old golf clubs.

Me: *Surprised* “Yes, I do, but you won’t fit them anymore. You haven’t played since you were eleven.”

Son: “Ugh. Got a spare set I can borrow, then?”

I’m just trying to figure out what is going on.

Me: “I’ve got several.”

Son: “Great! Can we hit the range together at some point?”

Me: *Dumbstruck* “Of course. You have… had… such a wonderful swing. Let’s see if you can still remember.”

Son: “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

I spend the next few days in a daze, wondering if I’ve stepped into some strange bizarro world. My son DOES NOT just come out of the blue and ask to play golf. He’s even gone on record saying that golf is a sport for old men like me.

And yet here we are, a week later, driving to the golf range.

Me: “So, why the sudden interest?”

Son: “[Girlfriend]’s dad. He’s a stereotypical old [slang for Caucasian] man.”

Me: “And what does that have to do with anything?”

Son: “What do all old white men do?”

Me: *Sudden realisation* “They play golf.”

Son: “They play golf.”

Me: “So that’s why you’re suddenly so interested!”

Come to think of it, he really only played golf to be with his crush. When she stopped, he stopped. It made total sense that he’d come back if a girl was involved. He didn’t play golf for a decade because none of the girls he’s liked since then — or their parents — played golf. This alone is honestly enough to get me to approve of his girlfriend.

Son: “That, and I realised that in the future, I’m going to have to deal with a lot of old men, so I might as well learn how to play this old man’s sport enough that I don’t embarrass myself.”

Me: “Don’t forget tennis, as well. That’s another thing old men like to play.”

My son swore violently in Malay.

Like golf, he has no interest in tennis. Unlike golf, he’s got no talent for tennis. Too many years of playing badminton have given him some seriously sloppy habits.

Nevertheless, I’m so happy that my son has finally come around to playing golf again. That girl is definitely a keeper.

I’m fifteen, and I’m at a family dinner at my grandparents’ place. The conversation rolls around to my relatives’ time in the army. Every male in Singapore has to serve two years in the army when they turn eighteen, so I’m quite interested in finding out what I’ll have to go through. We call it National Service or NS.

Me: “So, what’s the scariest thing in NS?”

Cousin #1: “Live firing. You never realise how loud gunshots are until you’ve shot a gun.”

Cousin #2: “Don’t listen to him. He spent all his time on a desk job. What’s scarier is the explosives. However loud a gunshot is, they’re louder.”

Cousin #3: “Forget that. You’ve never left Singapore. There’s nothing scarier than camping in the Brunei jungle and waking up with a snake right beside you.”

Uncle #1: “Hey, I was part of the National Guards. Nothing is scarier than rappelling out of a helicopter.”

Uncle #2: “I was in NDU [Naval Diver Unit] in the eighties. Last time wasn’t as easy as now. Scariest is the drown-proof training. They tie you up and throw you into a pool.”

The conversation degenerates into my three cousins and two uncles bragging about their scariest exploits during their time in the army. My aunt decides she’s had enough of it.

Aunt: “Quit your d**k-measuring contest. I know what the scariest possible thing in NS is!”

Cousin #1: *Unconvinced* “What is it, Mom?”

Aunt: “Potong Jalan.”

There is an immediate and total silence among the male crowd.

All Five Of Them: “Yeah, that is the scariest.”

Me: “Potong Jalan? What’s that?”

Aunt: “It’s Singlish for your girlfriend getting stolen by another man while you are in the army.”

Me: “Pffft. Like that’ll happen to me.”

All Five Of Them: *Thousand-yard stare* “That’s what we thought.”

Cousin #2: “If you don’t believe me, you can ask around. Happens to ninety percent of the couples in NS.”

Uncle #1: “Yeah, trust me. By the end of BMT [Basic Military Training], half your section will have lost their girlfriends.”

Cousin #2: “Yeah. Like, in some places, they make the officers all go for training as breakup counsellors. My friend who signed on had to do that. It’s that prevalent.”

Cousin #3: “And depending on your unit, sometimes you can get compassionate leave if you have Potong Jalan.”

Uncle #2: “Yeah. All the sergeants bully you so much, like to make you suffer, but then when they see someone crying because of Potong Jalan, they stop shouting and actually treat you nicely.”

Cousin #1: “There are even marching songs about Potong Jalan. It’s that prevalent.”

Me: “Well, I won’t have to worry about that. I can’t even get a girlfriend.”

Everyone: “Don’t date until after NS!”

They were right. There were several breakups within the first week. By the end of the nine-week BMT, the number of intact couples was about two-thirds. By the end of the year, it was below half. It turns out that after seeing your girlfriend cheat on you, nothing the army throws at you is even remotely scary anymore.

I’ve been seeing this guy for about a few weeks when he comes over to my place. We’re sitting on the couch watching a movie, when…

Guy: “Hey, you smell different today. Are you wearing perfume?”

Me: “No, I got a new shower gel.”

Guy: “Why would that make you smell different?”

Me: *Confused pause* “Because it’s a different scent than the last one?”

Guy: “But the shower gel shouldn’t change the way you smell.”

Me: “Um. When you wash with soap, you smell like that soap. You smell like your shower gel, don’t you?”

Guy: “But you’re a girl! You’re supposed to just smell good naturally.”

Me: “Uh… women do sweat, you know. Why do you think we take showers?”

Guy: “It’s to wash off the sweat and stuff. Then, the natural smell comes through, and some girls just smell better than others, just like some girls are prettier than others.”

Me: “Hold up. You really thought the smell of citrus just… came out of my pores? Dude, I’m not a grapefruit.”

Guy: “So you’ve been tricking me this whole time?!”

Me: “What?”

Guy: “You’re just like those girls who wear perfume and makeup! We’re done. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Me: “Fine by me, but I can absolutely guarantee you that any other woman you date is also going to smell like whatever she washes with. You’re not going to find a lady who ‘naturally’ smells like fruit and flowers.”

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