To Russia With LV

Wednesday 9th May 2007

This, I must blog. Skarang jugak.

I would like to declare today an official public holiday. Well, for Azim and I only lah, at least. To commemorate yesterday, the day my husband and I got annoyed by a hooker. Yes, a bona fide lady of the night. And yes, Russian. Oh, this is fun!

Now, before anyone gets all morally indignant and annoyingly critical, let me just let you know that I am not one quick to judge and label any woman with perky boobs and a short skirt out at night as an automatic hooker unless I'm absolutely sure. I am not presuming like that, thanks..I wear short skirts and I go out at night too (and I shall sidestep the absence of perky boobs on my person) but last time I checked, I don't work it to get it. And over here in Dubai, them ladies of the night also go out in abayas when their target demographics call for such clothing measures. So I don't just call anyone a hooker unless I'm very, very sure. And when that's being said also only as a matter of fact and not as an insult or anything. Really. When I'm not sure, a hot babe can shove her nippy fronts in my face, sans bra and sans shame, complemented with cleavage-inducing neckline and layer-cake make-up and ask me if I'd like to get it on with her for a thousand dirhams -that's the starting rate for the high-class ones, I heard- and it'll still take me a while before I go,

"Heeyyy......was she a 'ho? She was, wasn't she?"

And still wonder whether or not she was, days later ( and let's not even question why it even crossed my mind that I can get propositioned by another woman). But when I'm sure someone's a hooker, I'm sure. And you would too, if you've lived in Dubai long enough. It becomes second nature to be able to recognize these Russian professionals in a snap. No longer rocket science. No longer Da Vinci code. No longer Pyramid Game. But don't ask me to explain to you how. It's something you can learn but not something I really want to teach you. Heh.

Okay, so now, back to my story. Yesterday, Azim and I were in the Louis Vuitton boutique in the Mall of The Emirates to send one of my bags for cleaning (apparently Vernis does not take too kindly to shawarma filling...who would've known?!) and unsurprisingly, it was a busy night for the good people of LV. Sweet-smelling, so-loaded locals in their gorgeous tailormade designer abayas with three-months-of-my-paycheck Birkins on their arms deciding which Suhali they want to get for their friend's birthday, Korean girls contemplating Monogram Canvas Speedy sizes (it is a tough decision..almost on par with the dilemmas within the UN office!) , Lebanese babes drooling over the overpriced tak-lawa-sangat Monogram Denim Patchwork, devastatingly handsome gay men trying the Taiga range on each other, Raihan crying in her breaking heart when told the gorgeous white Epi Leather Speedy 25 is all sold out in the UAE (I knew I should have swiped maxed-out my credit card and gotten it the first time I saw it...so much for trying to save-up for it!).......yes, never a lull moment in the LV stores in Dubai.

Azim and I were waiting very very very patiently to be served so we walked around the store to take a look at the opulent little LV things we can pretend to afford. I didn't really have to wait for so long, actually, as it is a quick and easy process to send bags for cleaning at LV boutiques -handover bag, fill in and sign form, leave contact details for when bag is ready and khalas- but for the salespeople at LV and everywhere else, when it all comes down to a showdown between a rich man's wife potentially buying three LV bags and a stinky little air-stewardess bringing her shawarma-tainted Vernis for free cleaning, it does not take much calculation to work out who'll be served first. So we had to wait.

While we were waiting, I swear the air in the store significantly changed when in walked a tall, leggy, skinny Russian, with her push-up bra boobs leading the way, followed by TWO short, fat men. Not one but TWO. Portly men, to be precise.

Now, I am normally not fazed by these regular Dubai occurences and neither is Azim so we resumed our normal activity. I hardly noticed her after her grand entrance as I was busy feasting my eyes on all the arm-candy on display but Azim, after a while, got distracted by RussianChopsticks and eventually, got annoyed.

First, let me describe her so you can conjure her up in your mind's eye and picture what I'm about to relate in this post. Honestly, I think she's pretty, with light-coloured eyes and amazing skin. Most Russian women are like that. Her hair's jet black though, as opposed to the local favourite's lady-of-the-night blonde hair-colour and it was cut like Velma Kelly in Chicago -bob cut till just below the ears with short blunt bangs- which seems to be the favourite style of most Russian prostitutes. She was dressed in a low-cut singlet and skinny jeans so skinny, I think only my little finger can get in one leg! Her boobs, as I've mentioned earlier, were assisted by a really good push-up bra. I'm saying her bra's really good because her boobs were obviously relatively small but with the bra's anti-gravity powers, they looked amazingly round, firm and....let's just say, high. And with the low-cut singlet, so in your face, all over the place. For many men, I'm sure, they looked like little mounds of smooth cookie dough. Heh.

But most importantly, RussianChopsticks is really tall. And her height is further enhanced by the fact that her feet were prominently clad in a pair of LV Monogram Patchwork Denim stilettos. The same model which the LV store still had on their latest arrival display which probably means she wants the world to know that she's in-sync with the latest in-things of really expensive fashion. Or perhaps she just bought them yesterday and here she is again today which then probably means that she wants the world to know that she shops at LV everyday. Kalah Paris Hilton. Whatever it was she meant to mean, such things annoy most girls within ten feet of her, though not me, really! I so tak heran with these things because I know how she affords them and if not, I so know where I stand...which is very short and not everyday in LV. Heh. And when I mentioned that she's tall, I meant she's taller than everyone in the store and when an annoying Russian is taller than the guys within ten feet of her, her level of annoyance increases tenfold. That, I know, was one of the things which annoyed Azim already, so RussianChopsticks really did not have to do anything much to get my husband irritated with her.

But she did. A few other things. For Azim, her being so freaking tall is already strike one. I wasn't annoyed yet. But the night is still young, my short Singaporean friend, thinks RussianChopsticks. :P

Now, if I'm on such a natural pedestal (if I can ever be so tall and all!), I'd duduk diam-diam and not draw attention to myself. Mesti maintain. Exude elegance. Quiet elegance, that is. But RussianChopsticks likes attention, apparently. When I finally took my eyes off the bags long enough to observe her, I saw that since she entered the store, she had gone on to spread (and I mean spread!) herself in the shoe section and try on almost every shoe on display. She made quite a CirqueDuSoleil of herself and quite a mess of the LV shoes, I must say. Eventually, one of the LV people came over and offered his assistance (and there I was dari tadi tunggu macam batu but belom kena assist!) and she flitted like a cacat butterfly from shelf to shelf, pointing and saying in her thick Russian accent, "I want to try this, this, this, this and this in Size 40."

Oh? Then all those shoes she was trying since earlier on were not in her size? Then wtf was she doing trying them all on for? To get the LV salespeople's attention? Didn't her push-up ladies already do that? Or wouldn't an "excuse me" suffice?

"Oh and the trainers," she said, pointing to a pair of Louis Vuitton sneakers. Now, that bit really annoyed me. I hate it when people call designer sneakers "trainers". Firstly, nampaksah she got the word from some backdated American magazine she was reading whilst in some shady Russian plastic surgeon's office when she went to get her lips done. And secondly, "trainers" are for training. For running, exercising and all them lasak things you'd do to get dirty, sweaty and healthy. You wouldn't want to do that in a pair of Louis Vuitton "trainers"! They're not designed for that. They're for show only. For pesyen purposes. And if she does run around for recreation in a pair of LV "trainers", then I, who don't like to judge and anyhow label, would readily call her a big-time poser. There. I judged. Pfft. Not sorry. Can't help it. And when I'm annoyed, Azim's annoyed. So for Azim, Russian strike two. For me, strike one only but we're not done yet.

Anyway, I didn't notice what happened with her and the shoes but a few minutes later, one of the salespeople finally attended to me. So I got over my annoyance (annoyed kejap je...afterwhich I embrace the mantra of O.P.P...you know, Orang Punya Pasal..which is what I go by most times!) and I went over to fill in the form for my bag. During the time I took to do this and wait for them to give me a receipt, Russian had already made her way to the level I was on, which was the handbags display level. The shoes were on an upper level. All this time, Azim was observing her with an openly irritated look on his face and my husband, for one, does not stare at women like that, regardless of hot or not, annoying or not, tetek or not. Dah kena training mah! And I, for lack of a better thing to do since I was not going to buy a bag that day (oh woe!), observed her too but from the corner of my eye. Discretionlah sikit.

And RussianChopsticks did what she did with all the shoes. This time it was worse. She took almost every bag off the shelf, again flitting like a cacat butterfly, and looked at herself with each bag she held. Now, this isn't much of an annoyance if not for the store's biggest mirror being on one end and most of the bags she chose were on the other end! So she, with her legs and her boobs and her height, sashayed up and down, across the store, several times as she put on a great show of which bag(s) she wanted to add to her collection today. In her senget supermodel-like strides to the big mirror and back, she had to cut through many LV enthusiasts milling about the store (as I've mentioned, it was a busy evening in LV!) and you could really see the irked looks they gave her as she, with sheer nonchalance and brimming superconfidence, put herself on full display as if to say,

"Look at me. I am so hot! And you, are so not!"

I swear I could hear the trill of her evil laughter in her thoughts for she lacked the guts to laugh out loud, God forbid! Oh the wrinkles that'll cause!

Ugh.

And I'm not sure whether it was obvious to the others in the store but from what I saw, I got the feeling that she was parading all over the LV floor to make sure everyone got an eyeful of her bountiful boobs. You know how some people have said things like, "It was almost rude not to stare!"? I got that same feeling yesterday as I stole furtive glances at her bosom. And her skinny legs. And her tiny ass. Have I mentioned her tiny ass already? No? Yeah well, here it is. She's got a tiny ass. Phatt's furry ass lagi besar. I say, Russian? Strike two.

Azim also commented that he didn't even think Russian even knew what the bags she were holding meant, from the way she handled them. She was just there because she heard this brand, Louis Vuitton, is very expensive and very popular and if she had a bunch of Louis Vuitton stuff, she'd sooooo make it in life. I didn't really agree with him initially but as I watched her pick up the LV pet carrier and hold it against herself, I had to agree with my very perceptive husband. Pandai laki gua. She wouldn't know a Noe from her nostrils, a Batignolles from a babi hutan and to her Speedy is a very fast Mexican rodent. She really didn't know where she was and what she was buying. She just wanted the portly men (whom Azim thinks are her pimps..but why would she need two pimps?) to spend their money on the expensive stuff and she wanted us all in the store to watch her get all the expensive stuff. While watching her boobs, that is.

Strike three happened when she came over to my side and picked up the big white Suhali Lockit I was looking at (yes, the biggest one of the three Lockits!) and fell in love with but cannot afford to spend my one-month's salary on. She picked it up and posed with it and gestured to one of the portly men to come over.

Three strikes and we're out.

Out of the store. Out so that I don't have to stomach the likes of her getting that Suhali Lockit, which obviously has my name all over it but is not mine.

Bah.

And so yesterday, after three years of seeing so many of them all over Dubai, hearing about their headquarters favourite club , Club Cyclone and the many men devastated within the smoky walls of that club and being amazed at how absolutely gorgeous these women are, we were, for the first time, annoyed by a Russian hooker. Excuse us while we enjoy our public holiday.

Spasiba.