Shall We Dance

My good friend Razzaq had invited me to the Malaysian Millennium 2005 International Open Dancesport Championships. With the dress code being 'Elegant', I figured it would have been fun to dress up like a diva and rub shoulders with people trying to keep up with their elite image. I prettied myself up in a maroon velvet gown and some makeup I excavated from the recesses of my dressing table drawer. Suit-clad Razzaq was a little late in picking me up, but he is one of those people who look ravishing even when they're flustered. I jumped into his car and the first thing I noticed was a little blinking sign on the dashboard.

"Razz, shouldn't we pump up before we go?"
"No need, it should last me until tomorrow."

We made our way to the Shangri-La hotel in town and arrived at the Grand Ballroom just as starters were served. The dinner tables surrounded a large dancefloor in the middle, with a long panel of judges flanking the right side of the room. Razz and I were guided to our table number, which provided a relatively good view of the dancefloor. The strangers already seated at our table, particularly a woman who looked like she had been cursed with the face of a cocker spaniel, welcomed us with an wierd glare.

All night we pigged out on the 10-course meal and watched couples from the world over twirl around in their flowy costumes to various ballroom and latin styles. The competition was ridiculously fierce. Us and our friends have recently considered taking up latin dance classes, and by the end of this event Razz and I were not only inspired, but ultra determined to master some arse-shaking.

On the slow drive back to my house, we were discussing how to fit classes into our schedule, when Razz mentioned something about the car not having gas and I was going to bombard him with my self-righteousness before he switched to panic mode with these words:

"Woman, I am serious - The car is SLOWING DOWN..."

He pulled over to the nearest bus stop and started cranking the engine. It didn't budge. I started getting a laughing attack and he told me it wasn't funny. Then he started laughing and I also told him that it wasn't funny. But we both knew that it sure as bloody hell was. Especially when he called AAM and told them the honest-to-God reason why we his car broke down.

While we waited for help to come in the next hour, we enjoyed the aircon until it died out and we were planning to keep ourselves entertained with the radio until that died out on us too. Stranded by the roadside with just Malaysian-weather-incompatible evening wear to maintain our dignity, we ended up prancing around the bus stop with our appalling attempt at the foxtrot and filled Razz's digital camera with typical pictures of buffoons driven to the brink of despair.

The AAM service guy finally arrived and only after making doubly sure that we weren't bullcrapping him did he go off to get some petrol, which took him another 20 minutes. Three hours after leaving the hotel, Razzaq dropped me back home at 3am. It wasn't a perfectly glamorous night as we were expecting it to be, and we both agreed that the incident would proudly go down in our annals of shame. But knowing this guy for more than half my life, I wouldn't want to have spent it with anyone else in the world.