Tuesday nights in Dubai are infamous. It usually involves groups of gossiping girls guzzling free cocktails at one of the city’s sleazier watering holes, whilst inspecting the room for hot men. Yesterday was no exception.
Ladies Night… Six girls (and one token guy) took to Emirates Towers to discuss shoes, shopping and sex. We even talked about how to smuggle our Ann Summers friends into the country, with one suggestion being to unscrew it and place your toothbrush where the batteries are supposed to be held. Although trying to explain to immigration why your toothbrush holder looks like a giant penis with a dwarf rabbit hanging off the end may be slightly more embarrassing than first thought! Nonetheless, it was the best suggestion offered.
Another topic of conversation was my outfit, as instead of going home and getting ready to go out, as any normal girl would, I left work to head to Dubai Mall (which shits all over Shepherd Bush’s Westfield by the way) to pick myself up a new dress. The previous night, I had been watching Sex and the City with Miss LC when there was a scene with Carrie wearing a gorgeous green satin skirt, white blouse and sky high heels. Miss LC commented that nobody could pull off that outfit other than SJP herself. But alas, I spotted a fab green satin skirt in the sales and thought I’d try to pull it off anyway…
After a whirlwind spree, I’d purchased one green satin skirt, one white blouse, two bras, a dress, three pairs of shoes, three necklaces, two pairs of earrings and a partridge in a pear tree. Ok, the partridge bit was a lie. Still, it was quite some feat I thought.
Scurrying into the ladies loos with all my purchases, I tried to sneak into the baby changing room for a bit more space to change, and also to lower the probability of me losing an item of clothing down the toilet bowl. It didn't happen, the immaculately dressed attendant directed me straight back to the ladies bogs.
After banging my elbows on the cubicle door and scratching my own thigh trying to tactfully manoeuvre out of my work skirt, I managed to slip into my new outfit and emerge looking like a brunette version of Carrie Bradshaw after a cake and pie addiction. Ho hum, at least I have a cleavage to be proud of.
After changing in the toilets, I then had to shuffle through the Emirati-packed mall in 6 inch heels, a short skirt and a blouse with so many buttons undone even Jodie Marsh would have been proud. It was shameful and by the time I reached the taxi rank, I felt like a fully-fledged ho bag. Funny thing is, this was a conservative outfit for me. I needn’t have worried though... Minutes later, I arrived at Emirates Towers and my attire was back to being conservative. The outfits some of the girls in Scarlett’s were trying to pull off were outrageous. Clothes that really should be kept for the likes of J.Lo. And hookers. Although, perhaps these girls in Scarlett’s were hookers?
Emirates Towers, I would normally describe as one of the classier establishments in Dubai. Filled with high-end boutiques and home to several offices occupied by international companies, it has the perfect recipe to be filled with beautiful, intelligent people. But somehow, Scarlett’s seems to evade from its responsibility to maintain a certain standard of class. Perhaps, on a Tuesday, that has something to do with the number of free cocktails offered to women upon entry?
Taking a scan around the room, like an owl of a field, I quickly came to the conclusion that there were no cute guys in Scarlett’s, but I had a back-up plan. Yep, I invited K. For those of you who don’t know, K is my cheeseburger. I dated him three years ago but it ended in tears… my tears. I’m the reason he broke his leg but I’m also the one who looked after him when he was hobbling around on crutches. After it ended, I didn’t see much of K. He started dating another girl and I was too busy eating ice cream out of the tub and watching tear-jerking rom-coms to care.
Anyway, back to last night. So, K came along to Scarlett’s and it was nice to see him. It was like the old days, teasing and flirting. Then K told me he’s leaving Dubai and moving to Amsterdam... at the end of the month! Not the most devastating news but something inside me sank a little, after all he was still an option. Well, now he’s just an option for the next week or so and I might as well make the most of it, starting right now.
We moved on from sleazy Scarlett’s over to Harry Ghatto’s, an excellent move instigated by myself and E. I immediately put in my request to sing Alanis Morissette’s You Oughta Know. Anyone who knows me can verify I rarely sing anything else, but this time it had a bit more meaning to it. Not only had a been through similar emotions, as the song depicts, with K but Jagged Little Pill was one of the first albums we bonded over.
In the bar, K sat with three good-looking girls and chatted away to them whilst I sang along to everyone else's karaoke song and chugged champagne. Now, my attempts at subtlety are usually pretty weak, but I think I managed to conceal any desires I had of seducing K by encouraging him to chat to the girls at the bar.
On such occasions in the past, my plan has often backfired and the guy I was interested in would end up going home with one of the ladies I’d encouraged him to chat with. That would make sense, right? Except in my head I’d be outraged. Why? Seriously, what kind of numb skull tries to set up the guy she likes with the hot girl at the bar wearing a plunging neckline? To be honest, I’m not sure why I do it. I guess I’m testing the waters, you know, to find out if the guy actually likes me or if he’s willing to slope off home with some dirty blonde.
As it happens, despite K being sat with the girls for almost the entire duration we were in the karaoke bar, he didn’t go home with any of them. Nor did he seem too interested. In fact, he even engaged in some flirty, jokey, put-down type banter with me in front of them. It was endearing as it was a side to K I’d not really seen before.
In the meantime, whilst all this was happening, E was in conversation with another cute German guy and M was there for moral support. It went well, or so I hear...
After my pretty damn angry rendition of You Oughtta Know, K and I left. No, not like that. At least not yet. On the way out, I commented on his lack of effort with the girls at the bar but he seemed pretty uninspired by them. Something I found most unusual. The drive home was even more like old times than our flirty banter in the bar had been. I love that nostalgic feeling and reminiscing brings me such happiness.
It’s probably the reason why I still see J every time I go back to the UK, I have so many fond memories of him – the first date, the music we listened to when driving home, the first kiss etc. There’s also the fact that it’s still new and exciting, despite having been together before. You also know what you’re in for. By that I mean there’s no gasps when he drops his pants, and you know he doesn’t have any insane sex fetishes! I know many girls would disagree with me - a lot of my girlfriends tell me to move forwards, but why? It’s not like I’m getting into a relationship. I mean which is worse, taking home an ex or taking home someone you’ve just met?
Pulling up outside my building, I desperately wanted to invite K up, but something held me back from making the initial move. Asking me for a kiss, I gave him a peck on the cheek. Asking for another one, I gave him a lingering kiss on the other cheek. I felt he had plenty of opportunity to turn his head a little to kiss me, but he didn’t, so I took it as a sign he wasn’t interested. Although, I’m not convinced. After dwelling on it, something tells me we were both just too chicken shit to make a move.
As I stepped out of the car and walked towards the building door, K flashed his headlights at me, but I just turned my head, gave him a smile and continued through the door. I was half expecting him to shout after me or give me a call, but he didn’t and I guess that kind of thing only happens in movies and I was just romanticising. I’m a little disappointed nothing happened but at the same time, I’m pleased I didn’t. There's someone else I’d rather hold out for...
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