Tonight we plan to drown our sorrows in cheap but good quality alcohol, apparently in the midst of some heavily painted navy wives.
Three of us are Muscat-teers.
Update:
There were no painted ladies. But my Long Island iced tea was so loaded, none of us could finish it, for fear of not manouvering the very safe streets of Dilli and reaching home in one piece. The venue was a navy guesthouse located in a prime area in Dilli.
We landed there and my friend who looks white but is in fact Indian was stopped at the gate. The watchman inquired if he was a gora. Lucky for my friend, he happened to have his passport on him, which stated clearly that he is Indian, indeed.
This line of questioning continued a wee bit because by policy non-Indian are not allowed into the venue. My friend calls it 'reverse racism', something he has been experiencing all his life.
We entered the bar only to discover the existence of a dresscode; men can't wear denim.
So, Alan and the other Muscat-teer embarked upon an emergency shopping expedition to CP, in the quest of leather shoes and linen pants. "The drinks aren't looking all that cheap now," they chuckled.
By the time they got back, we were two drinks down and they shimmed and shone.
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