An Epiphany

Taking the train today, I was struck by a startling realization of what is perhaps the single most beneficial thing that driving offers over taking advantage of the public transport services in Singapore. No, it isn't avoiding the rush and crush of the busy crowd during peak periods. No, it isn't having to continually top up that little card as fares rise every few months. It isn't even being able to do without rude strangers and smelly mystery-men.

Instead, what I found, much to my chagrin, was that while on the train or bus, one will invariably stumble upon a girl/woman/thing with a false sense of hotness.

I'm not even talking about the standard bimbotic, prototypical walking make-up dispensers that parade themselves around random corridors like Singapore's Next (only?) Top Model. I'm referring to the females (and that's a stretch) who seem to consider themselves sex bombs, when they look more like they've been hit by a bomb.

Today was a prime example.

Strolling into the insanely empty train cabin, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye that must have blinded folks halfway to Malaysia. A large blob of colour, in skin tight jeans that did everything to highlight the rotundness of their owner's rear, standing with an expression that would have put royalty to shame. And this is from me, who has been told multiple times that I walk with a swagger.

If whales wore denim and excessive mascara, I would have thought one had beached in Kembangan, but oh no, the worst was still to come.

Enduring the sight all the way to where I eventually alighted, I was in for a shock. As if it wasn't bad enough trying to stare fixedly at a point that left her/it out of my peripheral vision (i.e. the floor), when I staggered out of those whooshing sliding doors that irritate me so, I was horrified to find that she was somehow in front of me and walking in the same direction!

Look down, look down, I told myself, and the advice seemed sensible enough, until I met with the contraption that left me wanting to gouge my eyes out with a belt buckle.

Escalator.

Turns out, Little Miss Whale was wearing a neon pink THONG.

How ludicrously and shockingly disgusting, yet expected, from someone whose folds could hide their spare change and whose foundation could probably shield them from nuclear fallout. As I contemplated what would happen if she fell backwards onto me (I have never done up a will, you see), the escalator reached its summit and the little pink strap was blissfully hidden from view again.

Come to think of it right now, I wonder how the thong was even visible. Wouldn't it have sunk into one of the... creases?

I went on with my day, which included watching District 9 (which is awesome) and sitting around with friends who played some acoustic music (also awesome), and all was forgotten.

Until I was on the ride home and saw a Chinese Mat.

Oh my.