"I have a love story to share," Stanley randomly told me the other day.
"And I want to read this in your blog," he demanded.
I was very scared to ask my sex bunny friend Stanley what type of love story he's about to make me hear -- and write about, given his track record.
"It's a love story about my mum and dad," he told me excitedly over a WhatsApp video call.
"My mum being the protagonist in this love story."
I was even more scared to ask for details.
If Stanley's type of love stories is anything to go by, I might well be forced to picture the respectable and formidable Mrs Monica Ong doing things no children should ever be subject to seeing in their lifetime.
"Oie… this is a PG story ok," Stanley warned, clapping his hands in front of his phone camera to make his point. "My mum was just retelling her story about how she met my dad the other day, and I thought it was too romantic not to share."
So, ladies and gentlemen, this is a story about my sex bunny friend Stanley's parents.
Told to you by Stanley, through my hand.
To start the ball rolling, Stanley added Carl to the WhatsApp video call.
It's that important.
Our dense friend Carl lit up the moment he joined us.
"I am so bored! I miss you guys!" Carl said.
"What the heck are you doing. Are you planking?" Stanley asked.
"Yes... on some days, I like to lie very still and engage my abs," Carl replied, not sounding breathless at all.
"I totally know what you mean. On some days, I also like to lie very still and engage abs -- that belong to a hot guy hovering above me," Stanley said without missing a beat.
I am really beginning to worry about the love story of Stanley's mum that is about to unfold.
Once upon a time, when there were no communicative devices, two people from across the island met by way of fate and fell in love.
Carl looked up from planking and was about to question the purpose of the video call when Stanley held up a hand in front of his phone camera, telling him to shush.
My dad had responded to an ad in some magazine for pen pals.
It was an ad that my mum's classmates had placed for her.
Thing is, my mum didn't even know her friends did that behind her back... which is so different from me. I always know what activities go on behind my back.
But back to my mum.
Imagine her surprise when she started receiving letters from what I imagine is a mountain of letters from potential suitors!
Carl, who loves all sorts of love stories, immediately stopped planking and sat up, his attention undivided on Stanley.
At first, my mum thought it was really silly -- who has time to read and write letters, she said.
"Carl... what the heck are you doing?! It's obscene, stop it!" Stanley squealed.
Carl, who was arching his right leg all the way up to the back of his neck, said: "Don't mind me -- I am doing yoga, but I love your story. Don't stop!!!!"
Anyway, my mum told herself she had no time for such nonsense, but decided to play along and just pick one letter and write back, just to see what sort of loser guys write to her.
Carl, who by now had both his legs arched upwards behind his neck, was beaming with excitement.
My mum's first thoughts about my dad's letter were oh my, this Robert Ong guy is the world's most dull person. But let's write back and see how else he can bore me.
And then, Stanley paused and added, "I would do the same too if I were my mum -- I always like to know how men can bore, drill and poke me."
And so the exchange of the letters began.
It started with one intentionally short letter my mum wrote. Very brief. Just enough to get my dad's attention.
This time, my dad wrote an even longer letter, which my mum later felt was "not too bad".
"Carl, if you continue to do this I will have to cut you off this video call," Stanley warned sternly, recoiling with disgust by the sight of Carl pushing his awkwardly pretzeled body up from the ground using his palm.
Carl the dense one grinned back like a goon and began to move his body like a human swing.
Anyway, my mum and dad began writing back and forth and the exchanges lasted for four months.
"Wow, that's quite romantic," I said.
"Yes, Adam. I was actually quite moved by my parents' innocent beginnings of love. Are you taking notes? You ought to. I want to read this in your blog," Stanley said.
I think this is all fated.
I mean, my mum is really beautiful -- she has so many suitors back in school.
She's effectively the village belle, something that I inherited from her.
"I thought they called you the village bicycle, Stan? A bicycle 'cos everyone in the village has each taken a ride?" Carl asked innocently.
"Who the heck said that about me?!"
Carl eyed me suspiciously.
"Shush, Yogi Carl. Stan is telling us a love story," I said.
So, after four months of being pen pals, my dad popped the question and soon they were on their first date.
"Wait -- they know each other for four months but don't know how each other looked like?" Carl asked, incredulous.
"Yes... and that's very exciting right?" Stanley said, adding "it's like when we were younger and went on IRC, and then meeting our hookups without exchanging pics. Come to think of it, my parents were the pioneer generation of IRC, Tinder and Grindr."
"No wonder you turned out like that," I pointed out.
"Hey, that's mean, Adam. You ought to show more respect to the direct descendant of the Tinder pioneers," Stanley said.
"And Carl, what on earth are you doing. Are you possessed?" Stanley said, exasperated with our restless, flexible friend.
Our gym rabbit pal is now on yet another yoga pose, his python sized biceps supporting his body that's arched upwards in an upside down V.
"This is called the downward dog," Carl explained.
"Oh, no, no darling, that's not how I would do a downward dog -- I know, I studied the kamastura," Stanley cut in.
"Story, story, back to your parents' story please."
Oh, so anyway, my mum and dad dated for the next six months... the best part is, they continued writing to each other even after they met!
Carl and I let out a collective awww.
"See?"
Stanley held up a photo album, flipping it open to show us yellowed pages of letters.
They kept each other's letters!
Stanley's mum's handwriting was classic cursive. Very ladylike, very posh, whereas Uncle Robert's handwriting was, for the lack of a better word, rather basic.
After about two years, they fell in love, Stanley said.
And it's really true love because back then, my dad was a pauper while my mum came from an upper-middle class Peranakan family.
But they both by then were madly in love.
They went through thick and thin, said Stanley who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth after his dad's construction business took off a few years after his parents got married.
"I want to be like my parents too," Stanley said.
I want to go through thick and thin, long and short, curved and straight, until I find the one that's just nice," said Stanley the Goldicocks.
"The letters are so old school and so romantic," Carl said with envy, leaning towards his phone for a closer look.
"Did your parents send letters to each other using pigeons?" Carl asked with genuine curiosity.
"Not anymore. They decommissioned pigeons by the late 60s because they needed to create jobs for postmen," Stanley said dryly.
Carl nodded, happy to have gained knowledge.
"Besides, I think birds can be trained to do a lot more other exciting jobs," Stanley said, patting his arm suggestively.
"But if I were to have pigeons carry my letters, I highly suspect my bird would be carrying the letters S, T and D."
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