Due to a few circumstances that were very much under my control, this past week got off to a less than ideal start. Girl’s birthday celebration (if it can be called that) brunch Friday afternoon was a great way to wrap up a relaxing an uneventful weekend. What followed at a number of bars and clubs dotted in and around Manama resulted in learning firsthand the old adage that one really should try their best to avoid getting drunk in front of their boss. And all their co-workers. And the Border Patrol.
It started off well enough
Tomorrow is Girl’s 28th birthday. For the past several weeks myself and the Brit have been relentlessly referencing her age and reminding her of how little she has accomplished so near to her 30th birthday. What started out as a little lighthearted jesting quickly turned into a friendly competition to see who can break her down first. A career that’s produced nothing but debt, no wedding ring or babies, no long standing friendships or house to go home to. I have to admit that I’m in the same situation, but, for one, I’m not nearly that old, and two, I don’t care nearly as much as she does. Cruel as it is, she’s taken it fairly well, and the only one to have been slapped was the Paki (sometimes things just don’t translate that well into English). To celebrate the occasion, she made the Paki arrange (and pay for) a large all-you-can-eat-and-drink buffet at one of the nice hotels in Bahrain. Despite all our jokes (and partially because of them) she’s put together an entire day of youthful drinking and debauchery. Little does she realize, the hotel the Paki picked is usually packed with the retired men, and, like everywhere else in Bahrain, prostitutes. It will be interesting.