backbreaking...

had a pretty fascinating evening all rolled up in one. got to work and earn a little, at one of my classic favorite and fanciest places of all time, with a most unusual choice, and one heck of a striking uniform, serving one of the more culturally likeable and cuter races of all time, and basically assigned to waiting on the minister of the japanese embassy hand and foot the whole night. "oh what a night" could not have been more aptly sung, if the live jazz band had chosen to try and tweak that into a jazzy number, with my spine broken into two by the time the number is done from all the backbreaking bowing done.

thankfully it still worked out considering the minister was busy hobnobbing with everyone and handing out namecards like free cotton candy, given my japanese is just about half past six, and my sensei would roll in her grave if she knew, so my conversation was kept short to making sure he was comfortably fed and attended to, alongside the swarms that kept having shift changes. think it was quite a feat considering it was done for five odd hours on end standing on three and a half inches, standing beside like a complimentary wall decoration, smiling till my mandible was about to fall out with my teeth flaking out like miniature hailstones in the winter, drabbed in a high flying sarong kebaya that is not walker friendly, and sounding like an off tune bullfrog that can neither croak nor ribbit aproper whilst trying hard not to sniffle nor sneeze in case it scared everyone into a swine flu frenzy. oh yeah, free dream upgrade to boot considering that was one of the two who got to wear the green instead of the normal blue floral batik prints.

made it out alive in all singapore girl glory, with more incessant bowing as the grand finale to the night. did not quite want end to come so soon considering the place was about as magically enchanting as the castle on a cloud in little fantine's song, not to mention the people watching was about as entertaining as a japanese hallmark channel. although cinderella did sing something along the lines that a dream is a dream the heart makes, when one is fast asleep, of which was fortunate enough to have a web of dreams all tied up in a neat little bundle, weaved and threaded together so delicately into a culmination of indulgence in a few hours, nevertheless, the curtains still have to close, leaving in its end, the reality of it all that the setting on stage is pretty much just simply one little boy in a modern day les misérables.