The Wonder Of Being A White Woman Who Has Nothing To Wear.

She could have brought the whole wardrobe had she wanted to. I've got enough space in the station wagon for a washing machine, industrial dryer and plenty of room left for a tournament size billiard table, plus enough extra space for a rugby team. There was no living witnesses to back me up but you've gotta believe me; she had insisted to travel light, with just a duffel bag for our clothes and nothing else. And so when she said, I've got nothing to wear there was nothing I could do but said, I'm hungry so you'd better come as you are if we you wanna share dinner with me. I was joking but she didn't get it. And so she put on a tank top to take the elevator with me down to the restaurant where the men, husbands and waiters looked and gawked, smiled and nodded, their missus and young children going ish ish ish.

You can ask my friends about this and they'll tell you that I am a very low-profile kinda guy. I hate attention and I feel very uncomfortable being watched by strangers but right now I think I should denounce being such a low-profile kinda bloke and try being a high-profile kinda guy for a change because attention is not such a bad thing. The only problem is, the attention is all on her and none on me. I don't blame the crowd. It's the way she combines the tank top with a utilitarian batik sarong that earns her all the attention from almost everyone in the restaurant. I'd wear the same thing too if I am a woman with her looks and the physical accessories, and white. There is no way you can get this kind of attention if you aren't white. A Caucasian woman can appear at a five-star restaurant in the same batik sarong she goes to bed, matching it with a tank top she wears to the gym and the maitre d' will naturally say, you look stunning, ma'am. You know maitre d' love saying something like this to white women as a way to acknowledge their sensitivity to local fabric and the weather. Of course no one will ever know that she wears what she's wearing because she's got nothing clean to wear because I messed up the laundry rotation.

After paying the check, I said to her in the elevator, why don't you appear berkemban for breakfast tomorrow, who knows with all the attention we got tonight someone could be kind enough to sponsor us breakfast.

What's berkemban?

Ask Yasmin.

Who's Yasmin?

Sepet, Gubra, Mohsin. Remember?

Oh, I know her.

Good.

Right this way, ma'am.

Thank you, sir.

You're welcome, ma'am ma'am ma'am.