Sunday brunch.
Cool enough breeze.
And most importantly, a cafe with an ambience that agrees with our IG posts and stories.
It had the makings of a delightful gathering.
Last week, the boys and I chose to shake up our social patterns and stop meeting like we're 8,000-year-old vampires who can only make appearances and come together at night.
And so far, our day was so good.
We were at Cafe Melba at Goodman Arts Centre, surrounded by a trendy crowd: Hipster parents who show off their kids in Ralph Lauren, youthful and fresh-faced working adults who're catching up to release all the stress they'd been facing in the first year of their careers, and the laid-back angmohs who come in their floral dresses and polo tees.
And then there are the gays.
Stanley, Carl and I had decided to dress down fashionably for the occasion.
Stanley wore an extra-large button down shirt and fitted berms.
"The trend is, the looser the better," Stanley pointed to his top, and then, pointing to his buttocks, "and the trend here is, the tighter the better."
I wasn't sure if Stanley the sex bunny was referring to his apparel or his apparatus and I didn't want my delightful morning to be spoiled so early into our gathering.
I wore a singlet bought from Thailand years ago and immediately regretted my choice because I looked like one of those angmohs you'd spot in Phuket.
Carl, needless to say, was in one of this dry-fit tees that hugged his body so tight that he may have to cut up the tee at some point just to promote blood circulation.
The three of us found a table al fresco.
To our left: Two pleasantly plump girls who looked like they shouldn't be eating any more of their oily sausages.
To our right: A family of angmohs who had a curious kid on a bike, cycling around the fake grass patch and trying to knock down birds.
Orders were promptly placed and Stanley sighed dramatically. "What a lovely morning, boys."
The angmoh to our right started coughing. It was one of those loud, throaty coughs that if you heard it, you'd immediately feel like helping her cough up the phlegm.
The woman who looked to be in her late-50s was hacking away, each forceful cough putting her one step closer to Death.
Carl the dense one looked very nervous and inched closer towards Stanley.
"Why are people who're coughing allowed to come out?" Stanley said in an urgent tone, intentionally not using an indoor voice.
The angmoh woman shifted in her seat, smiled apologetically at our table and continued coughing.
Determined not to get COVID, Stanley took out his hand sanitiser and sprayed above our table, cleansing all bad air and evil spirits at the same time.
Soon, food was placed on our table and the real catch up began.
"What's new with you boys," asked Carl, who for once, took an interest in our lives.
"Let's start with Stanley," Carl continued.
"Why do I feel like I'm in some game show?" Stanley replied, eyeing Carl suspiciously.
If Stanley were in a game show, he'd be the contestant to press the buzzer first and even if he didn't have the correct answer, he'd have something witty to say to make both the show host and audience laugh and blush.
If I were in a game show, I'd be studying my research notes up until the point when the highly-strung producer with the headphone and earpiece yanks them out of my hands.
If Carl were in a game show, he'd be wondering what he was doing there in the first place, and naturally, be the first to be booted out.
But right now, Carl is on top of his game.
"So, what's new with you Stanley," he asked, sounding every bit like a webinar facilitator.
"Something is not quite right with you today, Carl," Stanley said.
It didn't take long for Carl to crumble.
"Okay, okay, I think I have STD," he said in a voice which he thought was a whisper.
The angmoh woman to our right started coughing right on cue.
Suddenly, Stanley's concern went from one pandemic to another medical condition.
He inched towards Carl.
"Spill," commanded Stanley.
It was more like flow, in fact.
A whitish discharge, to be very precise, according to Carl.
Stanley was enthralled by Carl's detailed, blow-by-blow account that he started picking up his cherry tomatoes with his barehands like they were popcorn.
The blow-by-blow account, to be exact, took place in a gay sauna.
Stanley almost fell off his chair, but he got a hold of himself but his self-control had limits.
Our sex bunny friend started squealing and shrieking like he was possessed.
The hand sanitiser obviously had no effect on cleansing evil spirits.
To us, gay best pals of over 20 years, we know that the squealing is just Stanley laughing.
But to the trendy Sunday brunch crowd at Cafe Melba, the untrained ears wouldn't know that.
Stanley sounded like how your kettle would sound when it's coming to a boil.
To the poor, innocent kids who were playing nearby, Stanley must have sounded like a dolphin because they started merrily mimicking Stanley.
Finally, the angmoh's coughing had been upstaged.
Carl looked very pale and begged Stanley to please control himself.
Stanley looked up from his fits of laughing and then crumbled further into self destruction.
Stanley had officially joined the angmoh to see who would approach Death first.
Carl buried his face in his palm.
After Stanley had calmed down, which took all of seven minutes (I counted because I was nervously glancing at my phone with Stanley's performance), we were all ears.
And by we, I suspect it was tables 1, 3, 5, and maybe even one table inside because everyone -- and I mean everyone -- had at some point of Stanley's hysterical theatrics, paused to look in our direction.
Carl looked like he wanted to jump off a building but he had made his bed, so he had to lie in it.
The bed was in a saucy sauna which he visited not out of curiosity but necessity.
Carl had been single and virginal for way too long to the point where he couldn't help it anymore.
So on one of those Saturday nights when we didn't meet, Carl arranged for his own rendezvous at the local sauna.
Refusing to go into Stanley's plea for "great detail, the deeper the better", Carl filled us in with what we needed to know.
Stanley kept digging further.
"Let's start from the very basics," said Stanley, showman and show host.
"Age, built, looks, and size. Go," Stanley continued, thrusting each finger into the air with his list of basics.
Carl was too afraid to defy so to avoid yet another episode of drama, began his story.
He had been entertaining a visit for quite some time now, and so when the urge came, he didn't stop himself.
Which is fair, given that he's single, and old enough to make his lifestyle choices.
The man whom he believed gave him STD is a young, uni student who is exactly Carl's type: Big built, fair, bespectacled.
He was beauty on top, and beast below was all Carl said.
They made eye contact and brought that interaction to more levels of contact in a private space in the sauna and when the deed was done, the uni student did a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am and left hurriedly.
He didn't leave his phone number but what he did leave was a mess.
"A very sticky situation indeed," Stanley said, unable to help himself.
Carl only found out he had unusual symptoms days later. Difficulty in peeing, and the tell-tale sign of a discharge.
By our second cup of coffee, Carl had completed his round of updates.
He looked spent, as if he had been questioned by the CID for three hours straight (which is the amount of time Carl and the STD student spent together).
The three of us sat and digested the heavy meal and topic that afternoon.
Later that day, I got to thinking about our fruitful day.
Stanley's laughing fit at Carl's predicament was understandable.
All his life, Carl had been the least sexually active and is mostly clueless, so to hear of his encounter was indeed rather strange. And hilarious in a way.
But it did happen anyway.
And Stanley and I were there for Carl.
And that's what matters most.
Twenty years of friendship had given us a rollercoaster ride -- from the highs and lows to the bumpy.
But the three of us were still on track for our next 20 years, and hopefully more.
At the end of the day, what's really important is that no matter what happens -- STD or not -- the three of us can sit down and confide in one another, no judgement made.
That night, I texted the group to send virtual hugs to Carl.
"Carl, this is nothing to worry about," Stanley wrote later.
"It's a rite of passage. And being Carl, you're just rightfully slower than everyone else, that's all."
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