My gullibility was at its highest when a South American dance troupe hit our betel nut-red town but only because the show promised half naked samba men. So off we went. At the door, a scent of foreboding lingered on the air. The kind when signature perfume mixes with social climbers' sweat. I dismissed it and we went in anyway. Alas, a throng of the equally-gullible mail-order-bride Filipinas swarmed the club.
There is no way these
While binging on an –ita I can't remember which, a disconcerting whiff enveloped the VIP lounge which almost knocked me off. Pre-nausea "It’s like the perfumes rich matrons na umuupo sa mga pews closest sa altar ng church" I struggled to note.
A non-Tagalog accent thicker than Brooke Shield's brows protested "Lancome yun. That’s expensive. It’s on magazines."
I looked back and found the source of the auditory-sickening thickness but I stared past her and waved at someone who had a decent amount of clothing on and at least 240 units of collegiate subjects on her transcript.
Embarrassed, Mrs. Wife-of-an-Octogenarian went asking around on a litany of "Sino ba siya?" and "Ano ba sya, mayaman ba?" and other indecipherable blabbers.
Perhaps after being told by someone of candor that unlike her I didn't have to marry with my vagina her litany abruptly succumbed to Bob Marley's "No Woman, No Cry". The protestation, the faux foreign/dialectical accent and the odor withered along.
Later, we found her with one of the samba men reluctantly dancing with her.
Mrs. Octogenarian who is omnipresent on every Port Moresby party ever planned is formerly Mrs. Japanese Logging Company and before that she was Mrs. Korean Spare Parts dealer. Her resume boasts 6 years of folk
By the way, I'm exaggerating on the Avon party…only the Avon party and only slightly.
The POM I-Glitterati Series is a generous contribution of my dear friend Ivana Federova Vega Lopez-Lacroix.
Port MoresbyLabels: POM IGLITTERATI SERIES
