I'll Have A...

I’LL HAVE A …..

You know the scene. It’s Wednesday night, almost the weekend. The sexies are out in full force, dressed to the nines in lace and leather. The music is pumping and your Diesel ensconced butt is doing a happy wiggle as you sashay through the velvet ropes. A quick air kiss to Mohammed at the door and you’re ready to wreak havoc on the place.
You do a quick lap, checking out the crowd. There’s Peter, whose recent pool party left you an aching mess the next morning. And over by the dance floor are the crew from the S&M party the week before, still surprisingly dressed in rubber and spikes. You blow a flirty kiss to the cute new DJ who looks amazing in white, but whose thick French accent makes it impossible to hold down a conversation with and after a good ten minutes or so of doing the rounds you decide to settle at the corner of the dance floor with your best girlfriend and her psychotic new boyfriend. Cue conversation.

‘How’re you doing?’

‘What?’

A little louder.. ‘I said, how’re you doing?’

‘HUH? I can’t hear you.’

Hmm…perhaps standing this close to the behemoth speakers isn’t such a good idea. Quickly excusing yourself you head off in search of a better position and company that does not include one psychotic new boyfriend. Perhaps a drink is what you need.

Ten minutes later…( there are more hellos to kiss and a song that you absolutely HAVE to dance to ) you manage to elbow your way to the bar. Or rather, to the outer periphery of the bar. Because in grand Dubai fashion, the crowd is about 7 person deep, and the lucky few with their elbows on the counter don’t seem to want to move. With some careful maneuvering, mostly involving your elbows and high heels, you manage to work your way in to the crowd but you’re still nowhere near the front. The guy to your left is breathing heavily down your top and the girl to your right is gazing goofily up at her boyfriend’s face – surely they could canoodle somewhere else? Throwing a scathing look towards the dozy couple, you attempt to catch the bartender’s attention. You jiggle, you jostle, you flash a naughty smile, you practically flash the guy – but no go. He’s busy lining up B-52’s on the counter and hassling a guy in red for not tipping him.

Reaching in to your bag, you decide to light up a cigarette while you wait. You manage to find your last one, hiding in a dark corner of your purse – it’s slightly bent , but still good. Predictably, you cannot find a lighter but in this sweaty crowd of mostly men, a light isn’t really a problem. On this evening however, the only one who reaches out with a lighter is the heavy breather to your left, but you’re thirsty and sweaty and dying for a smoke. The next five minutes are spent trying to avoid the breather, all the while trying to preserve your precious cigarette in the jeweled mess that is the crowd.

After what seems like a lifetime, you manage to catch the attention of the bartender. You smile engagingly and yell out. “Jack and Coke!”, but you’re a second too late as a young blonde in a dangerously low cut dress screams out her order before you. The bartender rushes off to prepare her drink, leaving you fuming and ready to kick up a tantrum. Nothing will stop you now, no blonde, no breather, nobody. Pushing and shoving your way to the front, you park yourself in front of the bartender, flash him a psychotic look and spit out your order. It arrives a mere FIVE minutes later, over iced and over priced. Fighting your way back out of the crowd, and spilling some of your precious drink in the process, you work your way down to the dancefloor. Taking a long glorious sip of your drink you eye the DJ and get ready to do a sexy dance. He smiles back ,takes his headphones off and slowly fades out the track.

It’s 3 am.

Oh well, atleast you have finally have your drink.