sometimes it’s alright to indulge in the finer things. by that i mean it’s OK to eat at sala thai, especially if you’re being treated by your sister.

so here i am with faathumaafulhu, in the beautiful, if slightly overwhelming interior of male’s most sumptuous thai restaurant. we’re waiting for sampaafulhu to show up. she and my sister get along well enough. which is surprising because they couldn’t be further apart in terms of character.

‘i haven’t been here in years,’ says faathumaafulhu. ‘not since your fortieth.’

‘that wasn’t YEARS ago you nut,’ i say. ‘oh, here’s samfa.’

‘well, well, well, aren’t we fancy?’ says samfa sitting down and snatching the menu from my hands. ‘i expect i won’t be paying for my meal.’

‘you won’t be,’ says faathuma.

‘wonderful!’

‘let’s get the beef with red curry and the minced chicken with chili (narm prick [:D] oong) as a side,’ i say.

‘whatever, i just want to eat something,’ says samfa.

‘i’d a nice cool drink as well, it’s hot af today,’ says faathumaafulhu. ‘maybe that icy ginger tea.’

we place our orders and then samfa looks at her phone and turns to me.

‘zubaida might come say hi,’ she says.

‘she doesn’t want to say hi, she wants the food,’ i say.

‘ah, don’t get all worked up.’

‘she won’t even pay for it, we can’t make poor faathu pay for your sister.’

‘she’s just going to say hi, stop being a baby husenfulhu,’ says samfa.

‘yes, stop it brother,’ says faathumaafulhu, smiling at me mischievously.

soon, my sister-in-law walks in, beaming greedily.

‘well now, isn’t this something,’ she says and makes a server drag a heavy chair for her. then she sits casually.

‘what are you having?’ she asks. ‘can i have something as well?’

‘told you,’ i whisper to samfa, who ignores me and tells her elder sister our order. zubaida says she wants some satay to the server, who disappears swiftly into the depths of this sweet scented restaurant.

‘you know, the last time i was here, the german owner was seated outside,’ i begin. ‘i was with moosaalhu. and the owner himself showed us to our table asked me what i wanted.’

‘what did you want?’ asks zubaida.

i told him i wanted to try the tom yum soup, see how it compared with thai wok’s.’

‘oh no,’ says zubaida.

‘oh no indeed,’ i tell her. ‘the man FLIPPED and smacked his hand on the table and screamed: DON’T SAY THAT BITCH NAME IN THIS RESTAURANT.’

‘bitch name,’ snorts samfa.

‘and the other diners all stared at us. it was unbelievable.’

‘i can’t imagine,’ says faathu. ‘i literally can’t.’

‘in the end he ordered for us. moosaalhu was scared shitless. and we had to eat sticky rice with milky soup and it was almost a thousand rufiyaa.’

‘oh my,’ says zubaida. ‘here comes the food.’

i end up really enjoying the minced chicken, which i’ve never had before. it’s spicy, and tangy from the tomatoes – quite the side. the beef red curry meanwhile is magnificent as always.

the bill is about 1600 for the four of us.

‘don’t make faathu pay for it all,’ says samfa.

‘yeah, make zubaida pay, she gets 50k a month, the little weasel,’ i say.

‘you’re one to talk,’ says zubaida. ‘don’t you earn something like a thousand bucks an hour?’

‘he doesn’t,’ says samfa. ‘and if he did, he’d foot the bill.’

‘really?’ says zubaida. ‘husenfulhu? generous?’

‘when he has the money,’ says samfa.

‘so almost never then,’ replies zubaida.

‘OK, how about we divide it equally among the four of us?’ suggests faathu.

outside, on the cushioned ashi, the girls have a smoke, and faathumaafulhu strokes a little cat. it flicks its ears and stretches, then ambles into the restaurant.

‘there’s something nice about an ashi,’ says zubaida. ‘it’s really relaxing. just sitting on it. it does something to you.’

‘yeah, it’s certainly done something to YOU!’ i mutter.

‘what was that?’ snaps zubaida.

i shake my head. it’s actually nice to be among women, i think. it has a civilising effect on men such as i. i’d probably be like hasanfulhu otherwise. a real loser, i mean. good god, please, never EVER make me like hasanfulhu. PLEASE!