Sarong Party Girls Read Online Free

husband—­if we are smart—­it’s best to try and fasterly settle.
    â€œIn fact,” I added, “I think we actually must hurry up a bit. If you are serious about this, then, come, we set deadline. Today is Feb first—­by end of month, must try and confirm something.”
    â€œLike what?” Fann asked. “You want us to be married in a month? Be engaged?” Imo joined in. “Crazy, lah!” she said. “That’s only a month! I’m very busy at work, you know. Our big Club 21 sale is happening this month!”
    Aiyoh, my god. These ­people! Hadn’t they been listening to anything I said?
    â€œLook,” I said, “no one is asking you to hold a wedding banquet in thirty days. All I’m saying is, by the end of the month, we should at least have an ang moh boyfriend—­a serious one. If we really focus and put our minds to it—­and follow the strategy—­this one, I tell you, is probably can. So how? Set?”
    Imo looked at Fann, who looked back at her for a moment. “OK,” Imo said, raising her glass and waving her hand at Fann to follow. Together, we clinked our glasses and said, “Set!”

 
    chapter 2
    I still remember the night when everything went to shit.
    Of course I didn’t want to go to the wedding banquet. Sher, if she could actually bring herself to give a flying shit about our donkey’s years of friendship, should have known that. After everything that happened, after everything we discussed over the years and everything we planned and tried for, and then everything just going to hell at the end because of some cock decision she suddenly made—­just the fact that she was asking me to come to her wedding was damn bloody daring.
    But then she texted me one day, and then that night, and then the next day asking—­no, actually, begging—­for one small favor. “I need you there, Jazzy. Sit at the reception desk, Jazzy. You don’t have to do anything, Jazzy. Just smile and greet ­people and be there for me, Jazzy. How long have we been good friends, Jazzy? You know you are practically my own sister.”
    That last bit was the part that made me feel bad lah. I don’t have that many ­people I still know—­or care about enough to actually text and see—­who have been my kaki since primary school days. Or ­people who were there with me at Zambo until 3 A.M. in the morning on so many nights, holding my hair back as I’m throwing up into a longkang by the side of the road after a really good night out. At the end of the day, I have to honestly say I have never had a better friend than Sher. Friends like her are really A-­plus-­plus, man. Long long then will come one time. This, I always knew—­and I always assumed we would be best friends until we were old fat aunties sitting in our rocking chairs looking out at our colorful English gardens, sipping tea or whatever it is they drink over there.
    So, I felt a bit bad. After all, even though Sher changed her mind and abandoned the three of us in the end, I couldn’t ignore the fact that we used to be good friends.
    I remember when we first started really hitting the SPG bars—­Studemeyer’s was one of the first places everyone used to go. Right when the club first opened awhile ago it had all these good-­looking ang moh guys hanging out there on weekends. But then very quickly all these Ah Bengs in their old-­fashioned pleated baggy black pants, shiny silk shirts and overgelled blow-­dried hair starting rushing in and taking over the club on weekends. Aiyoh—­when I see those guys I just want to throw up. I know these Ah Bengs are Chinese-­Singaporean guys who probably feel like they need to action a bit more to stand out—­but I don’t understand how ­people can actually want to look so low-­class! Even so, Sher wanted to see