They are more like deck beds really, but I think my vocabulary stopped growing since I graduated from Primary School. They were cushioned, ridiculously white and smelt faintly of tanning lotion.
"Have you gotten laid yet?" I asked nonchalantly.
"I'm easier than a 5-year-old's homework!" replied Rachel. We stared expectantly at her. "But no, didn't happen. I don't care though. Today's mission is hot-guys-observation," she said flippantly while gently lowering her Carrera sunglasses.
"There's nobody. You can look at us," snickered Justin. In a hurry to flex, he spilled his red wine. The two of us laughed gaily at him. Pouting, he ordered another drink.
"I am sure there will be ang mohs. Or people who just finished work and want to get started on the weekend. Come to momma," Rachel whispered as she adjusted her ample bosom which looked like it was about to escape from the clutches of the red bikini.
"That's an 8!" I shouted, before realising my mistake. With the coordination of Russian synchronised swimmers, the two of them turned in the direction of the creature who just walked in.
"Are you kidding me? If she's an 8 then I'm a 10," snorted Rachel.
"Dude, that's at most," hesitated Justin, "A 6. I'll give her a 6."
"There's no comparison," I argued. "She deserves an 8 based on the fact that she's here in an itsy bitsy teeny weeny..."
"Now that is an 8," gasped Rachel her jaw-dropped and her mouth opened so wide that it invited any man who laid eyes on her to think the dirtiest of thoughts.
"He is a 9. I am an 8. His abs are like... wow," said Justin. The guy in question strutted towards my 8-girl and promptly wrapped his sinewy arms around her. They stared at Sentosa's polluted waters.
"This isn't fucking Phuket," I muttered.
"How is it that he's with her?" stared Rachel, her face twisted in a strange expression of wonder and jealousy.
"They're taken. Therefore, they're 0s," announced Justin.
"True," said Rachel after some thought. Taking a bite of her Greek Salad, she set her sights on the entrance, her body taut in anticipation.
As the afternoon wore on, her anticipation wore off. So did ours.
"3."
"2."
"3."
"Oh my god that's a 5!"
"You're getting excited over a 5?"
"4."
"3. 2. 3. 2. 1," babbled Rachel as a group of overweight, kindly-looking tourists waddled in.
"This is hopeless," I complained.
"Is it okay to give negative numbers?" whined Justin in frustration.
"I know I'm shallower than a children's wading pool," remarked Rachel. Before I could comment on her shitty comparisons, she continued, "But it's not as if I'm looking for anything other than good eye candy! To do more would be flirting. Cheating."
"And there isn't any other way to judge. Let's face it - there are a lot of people. If there isn't hot, steamy, physical attraction, then I see no point in moving on to small talk," reasoned Justin. "Hell I should've just stayed home and trawled Facebook."
"No one's getting me hot but the sun certainly is," I said. "Pool?"
Without another word, we raced each other and jumped into the cool, refreshing water.
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