fivemack | Men tell two kinds of stories

I've already done a 'no shit, there I was ...'; and the other kind proverbially start 'well, there was this girl ...'.

So, I took the funicular railway up Penang Hill, and was wandering around at the top, when I saw an amazingly gorgeous lady. South Indian, I guess; dark skin, gold-rimmed glasses, thinnish triangular face, sparkling eyes, a marvellous smile, and wearing blue dungarees.

I smile; she smiles back; I wander off; I keep bumping into her and her family group, and the last time I go up to her and say 'You're the most beautiful woman I've seen in all Malaysia; may I take your photo'.

She poses; she shows off her wedding ring and her small child; her husband looks mildly perturbed.

Her mother, on the other hand, without skipping a beat and without a word, immediately waves me over to her similarly-attractive but clearly unmarried sister.

Deciding that I'm happier reading A Suitable Boy than playing a title role, I take a picture of her sister and beat the retreat.