Who's the Fairest of Them All?

Hands down it’s Celso, the fellow in yellow Lacoste shirt with black abaniko and our friend working at the United Nations headquarters in New York City. He blew into town last week and rustled us girls (Lynett, Chato and me) for what he called a “wicked lunch.” Mindful that among us was a vegetarian, we chose healthy items from the Ayala Museum Café and didn’t venture beyond the appetizers of crab cakes, which he declared more full of extenders (potatoes and flour) rather than crab bits, sushi and salads. Strangest of all, we were reluctant dessert eaters. When he rose to go to the Gents, he asked me to hold on to his black leather bag. “Is this a Prada?” I asked as I gingerly touched the soft smooth leather and marveled at the zipper work. “No,” he replied. “Emporio Armani lang ‘yan.” Heads at the next table swiveled and gaped at the well-accessorized man. Count on Celso to deliver the best punch line of the afternoon.