It's A Bit Like Being A Male Nurse
December 18, 2009

Long weekends. You have to love them.

An extra day off for you to treasure and cherish for it only comes as often as Bar Mitzvahs in China. Plus few could surpass the joy of waking up to your alarm clock and throwing it away instantly.

Well at least for three minutes. Before the SpongeBob theme ("SpongeBob SquarePants! SpongeBob SquarePants! SpongeBob SquarePants! SpongeBob… SquarePants!") blares out of the TV, flushing away your deep slumber before you could even puff out your final snore.

Enter cousin sleepover.

It was the school holidays. And just any other breaks, our household will host arguably the biggest Barbie showcase in the country; dwarfing those you’d usually see at the malls. You know, the endless racks of pink boxes stacking on top of each other into walls of magical fairies and dainty princesses that would apparently scare parents just as the Sun -- of all things -- would on the pale vampires of Twilight.

Chaired by my sisters and attended by our cousins, whose cumulative age is barely half of mine, the gathering would be an elaborate celebration of the dressing and undressing of 11.5-inch tall plastic figures in their room, where the slightest sight of me, is forbidden. Unless I feel like stepping on miniature stilettos and cursing as I run away from their flying hairbrushes.

And hangers.

At other times though, i.e. when they need a ride to the mall, I'm more welcomed into their domain than the entire cast of High School Musical combined. Which is not too bad actually. It’s not everyday that you get to go out with six Hannah Montanas. And listen to Taylor Swift (and maybe sing a bit) in the car. And argue how Toy Story 3 won’t be out until June. And wait in front of Forever 21 for an hour. And explain to staff there how "No, I’m not a male nanny."

They bring me back, however. They do.

To the days when I would hide in the kitchen whenever I was at my cousins’. With hope that my parents would somehow, eventually, leave for home only to realize later that I wasn’t with them. And, for some other awesome reason, decided to leave me to continue playing with my cousins at their place for another week. Not to mention allowing me to not shower during the period. And maybe, you know, send in Geoffrey the Giraffe to shower us with a bagful of Ninja Turtles.

Which is quite sad if it was, actually, the case… the forgetting about me part. Geoffrey and the Turtles are good.

None of it ever happened. For most of the time I’d be dragged into the car. And sent right into the shower later.

So, girls -- yeah, I know some of you are reading -- be thankful that your parents are kind enough to let you do sleepovers and have fun together. Even if it’s at the expense of me waking up at 7am to Miley Cyrus belting out "Best of Both Worlds". (How do you even wake up that early anyway?)

For back then, things were a bit tougher on us. Apart from hiding in the storeroom, we had to, at times, pretend to be asleep, not without a pitiful posture, expecting our parents to go, "Aw, look at him dozing off all tired with Optimus Prime in his hands and half a candy still in his mouth..."

"...well not this time, mister. Wake up, we’re taking off."



bagus la ko serih. menjaga kanak-kanak.

my mom never let me do sleepovers. that's why at this age, i can be found at friends' house. randomly.

Big Brother: rumah serih?

hello a new reader aka stalker here!

found your blog last month i think via a friend and since then i was busy reading through your archives (now i sound like some crazy stalker :|) hurhur.

you're a funny guy! :D

Pie: Buruh paksaan, terpaksa.

Tyi: So long as it's not Judd's place.

Ihsan: Rumah aku, rumah diorang gak.

Pinksterz: Thanks. :-) Though I'm not too sure about the 'funny guy' bit.

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Photography by Azalia Suhaimi

  • Asrif, b. 1983
  • Subang Jaya, Malaysia
  • asrifomar[@]gmail[.]com
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