Carl immediately posted a gif of Snow White retreating into the woods in fear.
I believe it was also Carl's actual reaction in real life: Tossing his phone onto the couch and fleeing into his bedroom, his python-size arms flailing wildly during the hasty escape.
I legit choked on my morning coffee, splattering the hot liquid all over my morning newspaper.
"Stanley, those photos are to be burnt and never to see the light of day again!"
It was a very happy group photo of me, Stanley my sex bunny friend, Carl the dense one along with four other gay friends in our youthful, halcyon days.
The photo was taken at a chalet, marking one of our gay friends' birthday and there was a big birthday cake, stacks of presents, loads of alcohol, and we were all in drag.
Yes.
We wore dresses, wigs, and drew our faces with colourful cosmetics which we thought back then, were beautiful.
Seeing those very photos now made me want to cry, the way kids burst out in tears when a clown enters their periphery.
We looked hideous.
"Why did we think we were gorgeous then, when in retrospect we looked like characters from The Exorcist?" I wrote in our group chat.
"I love The Exorcist," Stanley says. "I have always been fascinated by films that involve people being entered and fully taken over by that entity."
"Why do you still have those photos, Stan?!" Carl typed later.
"Guys, do you think I looked fat in that dress?" Stanley asked.
"I believe you asked us this 20 years ago," I said.
Turns out, Stanley was doing some random spring cleaning in his attic (which serves as his room in his three-storey house) when he came across a box under his bed.
As with all horror movies, anything you find stashed under the bed in the attic or some basement would spell creepy trouble.
"BURN THEM!" I said.
"But... when I held these photos and closed my eyes, these photos spark joy," said Stanley, channelling his inner Marie Kondo.
"These ought not to spark joy. They ought to spark fear and send chills down your spine."
"I don't think so," Stanley said. "My drag photo will send chills not down a man's spine, but to happier regions down south."
"And, don't be so harsh on yourself, Adam. I mean, yes, you looked hideous in drag but I still love you," Stanley said.
Carl remained quiet throughout the exchanges.
"But Carl... you do look ridiculous. You look like a rugby player with large shoulder pads."
That stirred Carl to life, who started typing, and posted a gif of a yellow sun bouncing from cloud to cloud.
"Really? I look like a rugby player? Yeah.. I think so too. I had started gymming seriously at that age," Carl said, choosing only to focus on the good in life.
The year was in early 2000, and the location was at a chalet in Changi.
The plan was a birthday drag show.
The birthday boy was Shawn, one of our closest friends who has since migrated to the UK, and who, for his birthday wish, was for all of us to put on a drag performance for him.
And so we gamely did.
Stanley was very serious and got right down to researching bra sizes and how to make tits.
He even roped in an external expert: Steff his best girl friend from JC who was promptly named cosmetic consultant for the production.
The sporting and fun loving lawyer-to-be had even loaned us her dresses so that we could be as real as possible.
Carl, whose manly shoulders could not fit any girly dresses, came up with a brilliant idea of wrapping his body with bedsheets, paired with a women's belt to give his figure some accent.
Next was the hairpiece.
I was the only one among the group who kept long hair, thinking it was a good idea to have a cool Jap-surfer dude look.
But the rest of the boys needed wigs.
Thankfully, one of us in the group had access to wigs because he had friends who did drag shows for a small fee in gay pubs.
Carl opted for a long black wig to complete the Pontianak look.
Stanley, according to Steff, can go for a clean girl's look given that he was the fairest of us all.
So his was a wig that came with two pony tails.
For days, we chose songs and rehearsed group choreographies at Stanley's home.
On performance night, we gave it our all.
I remember Shawn having such a good time, clapping, wolf-whistling, and cheering us on.
The booze made it even more fun.
By the end of the night, all of us were dancing to gay anthems: I Will Survive, It's Not Right But It's Okay (Thunderpuss version) and classics like It's Raining Men.
At one point, Stanley looked at his lopsided wig in the mirror and loudly proclaimed he looked like he was raped at the chalet entrance, before quipping, "and I should be so lucky someone wants to even do that to me in this state. I look full drag -- like what the cat dragged into the chalet".
It was a fun night indeed.
Having our faces painted, disguised in women costumes was strangely liberating.
"I think I'll keep these photos. It's one of my happiest memories growing up," Stanley said.
"But full disclosure -- I still love my ding dong. In fact, I love it so much I make it a point to always engage it in activities, so I will remain a man for as long as I live," Stanley said, giving us full exposure.
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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people
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