Skip to main content

Dubai Stereotypes: The Ladies Night Lurker

The Ladies Night Lurker (LNL) is not a classy kind of guy. Old enough to know better, often divorced (or will be as soon as his wife finds out about his obsessive Ladies Night habit), desperation oozes from his pores.

You can't spot him by appearance alone - the LNL comes in all shapes, sizes, ages and grades of attractiveness. Tragic clothes aren't much of a marker but he tends to keep in shape - after all, he's been round the block enough times to know that a beer gut isn't going to help him score.

But whatever his physical appearance, the LNL can be easily identified by his beady little eyes darting about frantically as he clocks the room for the shortest skirts and the best cleavage. He might be smiling sweetly at the prettiest girls or pretending to have a laugh with the lads, but you can be sure that he's mentally rating the shaggability of each and every female coming through the door and chalking them up in order of preference, preparing his plan of attack for later, as the evening unfolds and the free grape continues to flow.

Known to hunt singly as well as in a pack (he often brings a better looking mate along to get the ladies to come within striking distance), the LNL is there for one thing and one thing only. He's on the prowl, scouting the gaggles of excited women to mark out the most likely targets... then, when the drinks start to take effect, he's primed and ready to pounce. And if he doesn't score for free this time, well... there's always the fall-back option of the Ladies of the Night (for whom Ladies Night reaps rich rewards) who appear, as if by magic, on the dot of 11 O'Clock.

So, if you have a man at home who regularly heads down to the Westin on a Tuesday night (or indeed to any of the other more renowned meat markets) you'd be wise to be a touch suspicious. And if you're a single girl who regularly heads out for Ladies Night, be sure to check out any potential suitor for a telltale tan line on his ring finger before you agree to that late-night coffee...

Comments

Anonymous said…
I see expat communities haven't changed then - lots of sun, lots of money, lots of hanky-panky!
Louise said…
What was it Lord Byron said: 'What men call gallantry, and Gods Adultery, is much more common, where the climate's sultry!'
Kate B. said…
Anon, indeed, although of course there's always the danger of ending up on the front page of the Daily Mail with a one-way ticket back to Blighty if you choose the hanky-panky option!

Louise - Lord Byron, what a gent!

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...