Gigil

My cellphone rang. It was P.

“Friend!” His voice was pitched higher than usual. Given that his regular tone of voice is just several notches lower than a falsetto, I’m surprised I didn’t mistake him for a Bee Gee. I could tell he was holding back his palpable excitement.

“O, what?” I replied.

“Friend! I. Have. Two. Tickets. To. The. Cosmo. Bachelor. Bash.” He paused for a giggle. “Wanna go?”

My knee-jerk been-there-been-that reaction kicked in. Parading half-naked men again? Look but no touch? Ho-hum.

“Uhm, when is this?” I asked.

“To-niiight,” and he giggled again.

Aha! I had my truthful excuse: “Friend, sorry I can’t. We have OT work tonight.”

“Aaaaaaahhh… okaaaay,” P said, not sounding a wee bit disappointed. Obviously he was going to the event, McVie or no McVie. This must be some event, I thought.

And then it hit me.

“Wait! Isn’t this the one where it’s only for a female audience?” I asked.

P giggled yet again. “Hihihi. Yeeeeeees.”

“But how did you…?” I didn’t finish my question.

“Basta, hihihi,” P replied. “Let’s just say I have my sources, hihihihi.” He sounded like a schoolgirl who figured out for the first time how to finger her clitoris.

Oh well, that still didn’t change my mind (I mean, I’m someone who actually declined a VIP pass to the Eraserheads reunion concert). “Basta friend, if the security guards grope you and find out you have a bulge, gudlak to you!”

And P giggled some more.