One of my bestest friends introduced me, “And this is Sylvia, who can trip on level ground.”
This was some 25 years ago; so you see I have had an early start.
Was it only yesterday (sounding like a Carpenters song now) we were the ladies who lunch? (Now we are the ladies who lurch.)
Bell-bottomed pants, miniskirts, platform or wedged heels, matching handbag, teased hair (eh, you beehive ah, was the tease) and to the dining we’d go.
This was pre-mall, so we ate and drank in hotel coffee houses, a couple restaurants, and in cafes in buildings called towers.
(The first McDonalds opened in Liat Towers in the ’70s.)
By the by, I have been scarfing the Chatterbox’s chicken rice since it was $3.50 a portion (is it $22.50 for the same now?).
I could readily shovel seconds then and strut about after without missing a beat.
Try this today and I’d need help to rise from the chair. (Never mind having to borrow money to pay for the same meal now.)
Ladies who lurch
We have become the ladies who lurch. Not of our own volition, but thanks to Mother Nature.
I say thanks because you discover who your friends are.
The friends who wait for your Grab, to ease you out of the car, into the lift, and to the seat in the bistro.
The friends who after lunch Gojek you home etcetera.
I say lurch because I have become a curry puff in my 70s.
Old & Chunky.
I sway from pillar to post (you’re forgiven if you think I am attempting to swing to Michael Bublé, those who know not that Dean Martin originated the song).
And lurch from handrail to armrest to lamppost to table to lampshades even. Just to steady myself.
I have never been the straight guy in our group of sit-down mostly comics.
And I could not have foreseen I’d eventually get so crooked in my ways. Hips, knees, neck, fingers, arms and legs.
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Do you remember the way you accessorised before you stepped out to lunch back then? Of course you dressed to annoy the other girls.
Tarted up the face, gussied up the outfit, and for a final flourish threw on Pucci scarves and Mikimoto strings of pearls and knuckle-duster rings and jangly bracelets and weighty earrings?
And kitten heels and elbow-bender handbags?
Ladies who lurch have become quite adept at hiding today’s essential accessories.
Knee patches, ankle guards, back brace, hot plasters and eye drops phials.
Not to mention the purse of plenty. Of supplements.
And the walking stick.
How did we get here? Rhetorical question dear.
Looked at from an askew angle, you have to tell yourself that at least you can still do lunch, with friends who’ve been by your side, through thick and thin.
The thinning of your hair.
And the thickening of your waist.
So you can’t race about, to be first in line to score that fast-food toy for your grandbrat (I mean, who sends his grandma out to get his collectible?).
And Ryokan holidays in Japan are a definite no-no. It took me two days to sumo-wrestle my way up and out of a tatami sleep.
But you are perfect for being the “chope” for the family.
First to need to sit down, and then hold the table for the rest.
Just don’t rock the table, dearie.
