WHEN your boyfriend sits next to you at the Chippendales and has a perpetual smile on his face, you know something is wrong.

He's not supposed to enjoy himself. It's a male revue with topless, often bottomless, men. But upon closer inspection, you realise it's not a real smile, it's one of those painted-on Ronald McDonald smiles hiding a true core of insecurity.

It all clicks.

The sit-ups he's been doing all morning, the nice things he said about my outfit, the fancy dinner he took me to, they were all done to prepare for the competition.

That day, it was him versus the Chippendales.

And in true competitive spirit, he didn't once show weakness in front of the adversary.

The Chippendales doing their dance routine. PHOTO: Desmond Wee

Even when the men took off their jeans and stripped down to their luminous thongs, or when Bryan Chan, a dashing Filipino Chinese with a voice and body to match, got off stage, walked to me, looked into my eyes and sang "I want it that way", my boyfriend remained composed.

I, of course, had to to keep my heart from jumping out of my mouth. Of all the 300 women in the audience, this Chippendale was singing to me. And I wasn’t even up front. I was in row H.

Of course, I conveniently ignored all the other women Bryan continued to serenade because he had picked me first.

And what a voice he had. At one point, I turned to my boyfriend and said: "He could win Idol."

"Singapore Idol," he replied. Ah, putting down the enemy.

Meanwhile, I was hoping the other Chippendales would also come by and rest their eyes upon my face. But most of them stayed a good distance away, on the stage, ripping their pants and singlets to rags.

Honestly though, apart from talented, adorable Bryan with his excellent taste in women, the rest were one-trick ponies that my boyfriend need not have worried about.

There were the uniformed navy men, the boxers, the cowboys, the suited bankers, the construction workers. At that point I wondered why these women were screaming and yearning for men in luminous jackets holding sledge hammers.

We have so many foreign workers in our midst, slogging away at the construction site, not 100m from work, home, school. When did they become desirable?

The last I checked, a group in Serangoon Gardens were adamant not to have a bunch of virile construction workers living in their estate. Perhaps the residents were wrong in thinking their property prices would fall.

Sell your place to the Chippendales audience, you might make a fortune. After all, these women - and I say emphasize women, because the men in the audience were mostly ushers and my boyfriend - had paid up to $200 for an hour with the Chippendales.

That's a fair bit considering the show also had very little in terms of production value.

It opened with a flapping backdrop of a city skyline, which looked like something my junior college classmates would have painted to support our soccer team. And at one point, the "boxing ring" made of corrugated cardboard fell down.

Evidence of how strong these Chippendales are? I don't think so.

Maybe if I had had a little more to drink, I might have overlooked these little things.

But six-packs and large packages weren't enough to blind me to the superficial appeal of these overly-waxed dancers.

Only that one talented voice had to something to compete with my boyfriend at the end of the day.

"Did you have fun?" he asked. "I found it mildly amusing, I didn't get it," I replied.

Honestly, I'd pick my lumpy boyfriend anyday. (Well, except of course if Bryan is interested...)