decadence

"So would you rather me cave in, grab you and do horribly decadent things to you?"

I was all languid limbs and heavy eyelids that can only result from lolling in bed the whole day, when his text messages nudged me awake on Friday night.

I never knew the word decadent could send such delicious shivers down the spine.

But I resisted and instead told him, "Not tonight dear, I've got a headache."

The word stuck in my head, though, the entire Saturday, through a three-hour lunch with Fann Wong -- delicious but too boring to recount -- and an indulgent pedicure which I could ill afford and instantly chipped when I got home.

After more lolling in bed, it was time to head out to Happy for a girls' night out for TPL's birthday celebration. I didn't set out to get so completely wasted, so I can only blame it on the decadence of the second bottle of champagne -- foolishly downed by two already rather happy girls.

There was a short moment of sobriety when we looked at each other and thought of the people texting and distracting us throughout the night. And then just as quickly, we snapped out of it and continued hurtling towards oblivion.

I remember wanting to remember certain things, but try as I may, only fragments come to mind.

L singing "I'm a little teapot", because so many of the men were short and stout. The mamasan at the bar sweeping his arm and proclaiming that all the bartenders were straight. The industrious cashier with the shyest smile whom we kept badgering. The Frenchman who told everyone "I love you". The numerous topless dancing males, many of whom should have remained dressed. Learning a new Korean word -- pugah -- to assume the position. Me wailing to TPL, "How? Should I have a fling with him?"

I look at my phone's message history and I can barely recall what I was thinking when I sent them. There was one where I accused him of being a terrible kisser, and he agreed, "Yes, I'm a terrible everything. You should run away from me."

Things got more terrible as the night progressed.

Seperated from everyone else after a trip to the loo, I stumbled tipsily around this gay club where disinterested men rudely pushed you aside, where every corner there seemed to be a nook for making out, and where there were too many green Exit signs which led nowhere.

Ended up sitting on the curb in some back alley and finally gave up all pretence of being sober. So I called him. I wonder now, do I do things I know I shouldn't when drunk? Or do I get drunk so I can do things things I shouldn't?

"Hey..." I murmured in slow motion into his voice mail at 3:31am, according to my phone log. Then I paused. Then I hung up.

Someone else came and found me and sent me home and made me take out my lenses and put me to bed.

Being decadent isn't as gratifying as I imagined.