You know you're blessed when people you love come to your place and do a big spring clean just for you.
And it's the time of the year for such lovely gatherings to be had.
"Actually," Stanley pointed out, "people you love can also go to your place and do a big spring clean for you after you die."
Ok, Gong Hei Fatt Choy to you too, bitch.
But first things first.
Before this morning's spring cleaning exercise, the gang needs to eat.
And so, to the nearby hawker centre near my place we ventured.
We found ourselves in front of the Chap Chye Png stall out of pure efficiency -- it was the stall with the least queue.
"There's an art to ordering economic rice dishes," Carl the dense one said to us, his mask puffing up.
"You decide on the top three dishes you want," he said. "Then you rank in your head which ones are your favourite."
Stanley looked at Carl, not sure where our usually-clueless friend was going with his lecture.
"Always place your favourite of three choices in the middle. Because when the aunty scoops your first choice, she'd be telling herself 'not too much... there are two more choices coming'. And when she scoops the second dish -- the favourite and most important of the three -- she does so with full vigour. The last dish is usually the oh, too much the rice box is full scoop so it's not going to be a lot," Carl explains with seriousness.
"You have given this a lot of thought, Carl," I said, impressed.
Stanley leaned in and said he wished Carl would apply the same rigour of thinking process in his everyday life.
Armed with four packets of Chap Chye Png, we made our way back to my very beautiful but very dusty apartment where J my partner had already done the laundry while the boys and I hunted for, and brought back food.
Stanley opened his styrofoam lunch box and gave Carl dagger stares that's meant to stab and hurt.
"What rubbish theory did you just share, Carl," Stanley barked at our dense friend, exasperated that his middle-choice of curry chicken comprised only one small drumstick and a large potato.
His remaining choices of eggplant and long beans filled up the box generously.
Like an angry mother looking to vent equally at all her kids including those who hadn't done anything wrong, Stanley spun his head towards me and unleashed matronly fire at me.
"Adam Lee. What sort of stupid hawker centre is this. You should move out!"
As if to do damage control, Stanley began tapping at his phone with intense concentration.
"I'm taking full control of tonight's food orders," Stanley said sternly.
The plan for today, is that we'd spring clean for first half of the day and by the time we're done, my house would be decent enough not just for human habitation but also decent enough to host our group's reunion dinner.
When we polished off our takeaway styrofoam rice boxes, the four of us got to work.
And we all worked based on our strengths.
Carl put his python-sized biceps to good use by moving heavy pieces of furniture around to clean up.
Stanley the sex bunny focused on enthusiastic sucking, leaving no areas unsucked as he navigated around my place with the vacuum cleaner.
J the systematic worker looked at whatever everyone else was doing and preemptively readied himself the next tasks as if batons were handed in a race.
That was when he placed his hands Akimbo like he were Wonder Woman and said pointedly to me "and what are you doing when everyone is hard at work cleaning your place?"
"Ya! MOVE OUT!" Stanley shouted over the roar of the vacuum cleaner, clearly still sore over his meagre second-serving of chicken curry.
Carl tip-toed out of Stanley's sight and waited till the coast was clear.
Three hours of combined effort later, the boys, J and I slumped in my living room.
Stanley lay on his back like a starfish on top of my carpet, spent. "Sucking non stop for an hour does that to you," he said.
Carl was knocked out, dozing off with his mouth wide open, snoring away softly.
J shook his head when I said "I'm dying of exhaustion."
"You didn't do very much," J said to me as lovingly as he could.
I looked around my house and let out a very happy sigh of relief.
Windows, grilles, dusted. Floor vacuumed, mop. Surfaces, wiped.
My place is also aptly adorned with all things Lunar New Year.
Pussywillows, fresh flowers (a dozen red roses) strategically placed.
My Crate and Barrel bowl is filled with eight Mandarin oranges alongside a red packed filled with money to symbolise wealth.
I had brought out my super Cheena cushion covers -- bright red with gold embroidery of the words "Fortune" and "Luck" in Chinese characters. A table throw that looks like it's ripped out of the Cheongsam of a Cantonese Dim Sum restaurant waitress.
All that's missing are couplets, or fake firecrackers, or --
I stop myself from going down the list.
Because I look around and see that there is nothing missing in my life.
My partner of 20 years J is right beside me, functioning as my human pillow at this moment.
Carl and Stanley my two best friends of more than 20 years are lying around as if they had been attacked with sleep darts.
My beautiful and cosy home that's filled with not just Lunar New Year decor but the invisible and collective web of their love hovering my lovely apartment.
Indeed, there's nothing missing.
"Where's the food," Stanley said in a low guttural voice.
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