I can only pray that all dinner conversations are so delicious.

At dinner last night, our conversation accidentally drifted into the sometimes-forbidden area of bedroom antics.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not about to beat on the old 377A horse, but since I brought it up, I should just at least make me position clear: What happens behind closed doors of consenting adults, should be private. And that is even if the amorous sound that comes out of the closed doors fascinate us.

So, let me get right into the topic (pun intended).

In the last few months, our friend (whose name shall be kept a secret to spare her of excited callers) has gotten very familiar with the sex lives of the neighbors who live above her. “I now know when the husband is in town because sometimes they will have sex six times a day.” Not just that, she also knows they do it on a squeaky brass bed.

I am very sure our friend is not envious of the actions that her neighbors are getting, neither is she worried that they may be hurting themselves from overdoing. All she wants, is just some peace and quiet so that she can read, watch TV, sleep, and occasionally make the office conference calls.

Our friend knows the name of the female participant, but we, the shit-stirrers, were more interested to know how she looks like. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing to run into them in the lift?” “Nope, hasn’t happened yet.”

I think I might be tempted to tell them, “you look very happy.” But thank goodness, I don’t live in the same apartment block.

I have to confess that for a long time between my main course and the arrival of desserts, I was wondering how she looks like.

This is bad, I know, but we all subscribe to stereotypes. The woman definitely has a certain look, and she definitely wears a certain kind of clothes and shoes. So is that why we – three women and a man – want to know how she looks like? To confirm that she fits our sketches? Or to satisfy our curiosity that we really don’t know such a person? Or on the contrary, to be able to say, “I knew it, got to be her, she has that look”?

Now what kind of look would that be? Would it be the same as a particular June, who was sued by an ex-lover for allegedly giving him herpes? For we too were all in unison in saying that we need pictures of June when the case goes to trial. Nobody, as far as I remember, was interested to know how the plaintiff looks like.

If the two women I mentioned turn out to be the plain Jane, the comment “still water runs deep” would most certainly come up. If they look even remotely close to the typical Sarong Party Girl, I can guarantee you that we will all be saying, “I knew it.”

Do we just want to know that June is really not May? Come December, we should all know the answer.

I have photographed a fair share of criminals and accuseds in my former life as a newspaper photographer. So much so that I had given advice to some of them. Generally, if you want public sympathy, look remorseful and walk with your head down. Don’t threaten the photographers who are just out there doing their jobs. Don’t smirk, don’t look too smug. And if you want to show your ignorance, walk confidently but pout your lips. Wear glasses but not shades. Be nice to photographers but don’t pose like a supermodel.

June, if you are listening, it means no spaghetti tops OK?