My father woke me up this morning with a 0700 hours phone call.

“Want to have breakfast?” My father asked. “If you want breakfast, I can wait for you at the usual.”

This morning, like all mornings, he went for a walk. Sometimes he fishes with his friends. He talks about fishing with so much passion that one does not realize that he has not caught a truly huge fish. Catching smaller fishes was of no consequence to him. My father just loves fishing.

I got up and got dressed. Drove ten minutes to the usual breakfast hangout. Father was dressed in his morning walk attire – a pair of knee length trousers, walking shoes and a t-shirt my brother bought from Manila. He wakes up very early each morning. He said it was an age thing, making him sleep less and waking him up when the roosters were still asleep.

“Father.” I said. “I finally wrote the book.”

"Well done. Now tell me what it is about?" He replied.

He sipped on his ice coffee as I began telling him the story of how “Nude, Not Naked” was birthed. I share a cordial relationship with my father. This began in my childhood when our family ate all our meals together. Us three children would be encouraged to talk about our school life and friendships.

When I was away to study in London, I missed having family meals the most. No amount of good food (when you are a teenager, good food means fatty and oily fast food) did the trick. I remember crying quietly eating a few meals on my own during the first week living in the city where the Big Ben struck. Eventually my parents arranged for me to have my meals with a family friend and soon I was no longer homesick in the company of a family during mealtimes.

“Do you know why I chose the name Nude, Not Naked?” I asked him. “It is because the book is an objective observation of a girl's relationships with the men who have shaped her. There is no romance, no mushy puppy yucky stuff, just a honest story."

My father raised his eyebrow. In his youth, my father was a handsome man. For many of my primary school years, my father brought me to a hairdresser to have my hair trimmed. For that many years, I was made to listen to “There her father is here again. So handsome that man, don’t you think?” whispered by the chief hairdresser to her workmates. They conversed in Hakka (a southern Chinese dialect, commonly heard in Chinese medical halls and cloth shops) believing that I did not comprehend. I did.

“Girl, when are you going to get married?” He asked.

“One does not need to marry these days.”

He frowned. He has been bringing my two Persians out for drives in the evenings when most of his friends were in cars with their young grandchildren.

“Seriously father. I am very happy and there are so many things to do these days without even thinking of marriage. Eventually I would love to marry but I do not think that marriage is the be all and end all.”

I took this opportunity to explain to my father. Probably I hoped he would cut me some slack. We had a discussion. How relationships these days were not governed by whether one was married or not. This is significantly true especially in Europe. Marriage did not make a relationship any better than an exclusive couple. And most relationships, whether civil registered or otherwise, are given equal legal rights.

I think God will smite me for saying this but I think that there are far more happy exclusive unmarried couples than the smug married.


***
“She what?” I asked.

“Her boyfriend said that you made the group feel odd. They want to hang out with the married couples now that they are married.” Eve said.

Bloody smug marrieds, I thought to myself.

We were schoolmates - the smug marrieds, Eve and I. Like all late teens, we explored the world in each other’s presence. We studied in the same college for our A levels before venturing into different fields. I did a nursing course while the smugs concentrated on more viable professions. Though the smug marrieds were an item since we were fifteen, Mrs. Smug Married refused Mr. Smug’s marriage proposals.

Yup, you read it right, my dear readers. Three marriage proposals with three diamond rings that only grew bigger with each proposal.

By the third proposal, I had a small chat with the girl formerly known as my single girlfriend. I reasoned with Mrs. Smug that it was getting ridiculous how she collected the rings but wiggled herself out of the deal. I told her that she has to make up her mind eventually; be it to marry Mr. Smug or to ditch him in favor of a new lover.

Mrs. Smug whispered in my ears. I am unsure if she shared this with anyone else but this is what she said: “I am afraid of marrying him. There is no more excitement in the relationship. Maybe it is because we have been together for donkey years.”

Dear readers: I do not think the description “donkey years” is ever used as a compliment. I might be wrong but I will never settle down for something I describe as the donkey years.”

But they did settle down. Eventually. She rushed him into the Carat Club when she realized he was having friendly lunches with a particular girl from his office. Good job at it since the donkey did all the relationship ploughing. Somebody - if not Mr. and Mrs. Smug themselves - should be rewarded for working hard at the relationship. They recently celebrated their 2nd wedding anniversary. An oppulent party without the unmarrieds like myself, of course.

And now they planned to take it a step further. They no longer wish to invite me whenever they were hosting dinner parties with similarly smug marrieds just because I do not share the common believe of staying in a relationship that was described as the donkey years.

Damn the smug marrieds.

Actually my dear readers, it could be worst. They could invite me for dinners where every couple talks in unison, a land where everything is a “we”: We did this. We think that. We bought this. We liked that.

A dinner where they will gang up on me, asking “So when is it your turn? Otto, it is great time to get married and settle down. Get married before you miss the boat.”

Damn smug marrieds have a knack for doing the marriage sales pitch more ruthless than the average parking warden fulfilling his quota for the day.

And why should these smug marrieds be asking me that, I wonder. They should have known by now that my relationship is not in the “donkey years” category just yet.