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...)

In one corner, a few elderly men chatter while tucking into a mound of rice and vegetables.

At the other end of the room, Chinese foreign workers quietly gobble down a meal before heading back to the construction site just across the road.

Then there are the loners who look down at their food, avoiding any eye contact, slipping out of the place as silently as they had come in.

Everyone there is seeking one thing — a free meal.

The Singapore Buddhist Lodge (SBL) says it has seen a 20 to 30 per cent increase in the number of people going to them for food then before the economy took a turn for the worse last year.

The organisation has been providing free meals since the 1980s and spends about $1 million a year, on the meals which include breakfast, lunch, dinner, and tea.

"If more people need food, they can come, this is part of our charity work, we will not stop this," said the SBL spokesman.

Mr Douglas Pakkiyadas, 58, who is unemployed and homeless said he usually sleeps in parks, showers in swimming pools, and either buys bread for his meals, or goes to the Singapore Buddhist Lodge for something more substantial.

The former restaurant captain said he is actually a Christian. "But they welcome everyone here," he said.

"If not for them, all of these people would have to starve," he added gesturing to the hall of over a hundred people.

Some of the regulars have even made friends.

Madam Loh Tong Hua, 60, said she goes there once a week to meet up with old friends who are still down and out.

"I have a job now, but if this place closes down some of these people will go hungry," said the part-time packer.

"Especially for those who have no place else to go, this is like their home, and we are like a big family," she added with a smile.

DEBT collectors - there's no way of avoiding them, as these Singaporeans found out the hard way.

Many felt the heat especially in this downturn, as these collectors turned up at their homes and offices at all hours.

Debtor: Ms M. Ail, a secretary, 37, owes $30,000 to five banks.

Experience: Ms Ail had been harassed by debt collectors at her home numerous times. She said there was one time when she was away at work and her maid had to deal with the situation.

It was around 9pm, and she said her three children had already gone to bed when the debt collectors knocked at their door.

When her maid said she was not in, the debt collectors replied: "I know she is in, ask her to come out."

Her kids aged two, seven and nine, were woken up by the commotion and apparently quite shaken by the incident.

"It was terrible, when I’m not at home, they harass the maid," she said.

Debtor: Male, 45, married with two children. Owes about $50,000 to banks due to failed restaurant business.

Experience: He said he gets phone calls every other day which he finds "sickening". Also debt collectors call past 8pm and even on weekends.

He said: "It would be nice if they left me alone on weekends. I want to return the money. Just give me some time."

Complaining about banks, he said that even after he had paid up for the month, he receives computer-generated letters the next day claiming he has not paid.

Debtor: Female, manager in her 50s. Owes money (would not say how much) to six banks.

Experience: She continuously gets phone calls, sometimes, one in the morning and another in the afternoon from the same organisation.

After restructuring her debt and working out a payment plan, she was still harassed.

She had agreed to pay $1,000 each month, to an institution, but after the first payment, she was called up and told that the sum was "not enough".

She said: "They are about the same as loan sharks. Just no physical violence."

As the saying goes, you can run, but you can never hide.

Read the full story in Thursday's edition of The Straits Times.