Tuesday December 30th, 4.30 pm: I have just returned home early from work and am frantically getting ready for the evening ahead. A group of friends are coming over in 15 minutes to await the arrival of our made-to-order ManServant. What’s a ManServant, I hear you ask? Well, this is a special service (sadly only available in San Francisco for now) whereby you can hire a tall, charming, handsome man to be your domestic god and servant for a couple of blissful hours. After reading about this, we empowered ladies at 11&more just knew we had to try this out for ourselves…

Back to the afternoon of. I touch up my makeup and decide what to wear. Should I try to look sexy for the ManServant or will that come off too desperate? After all, he is not a stripper – these gentlemen are classy and courteous, or so we’ve been told. I cycle through a couple of outfits before I decide on a pair of tight black crystal-studded jeans and a form-fitting white top. I then dash to the kitchen to lay out all the wine and spirits I have purchased. We have decided to request a ManServant who comes equipped with mixology skills and who will create each of us a custom cocktail after getting to know us better. A genius idea from my friend Jia Jia, since this will encourage a little one-on-one interaction plus copious drinking…ugh, this is starting to sound like The Bachelor.

4.45 pm: The doorbell rings. My friends are here! And they come bearing gifts—quiche, cheese, cold cuts, and multiple bottles of wine, gin, tequila, and other good stuff. This is going to be quite an evening, I chuckle, as I help myself to some Rioja.

4.55 pm: We have arranged ourselves artfully on the couch and are nervously sipping from our wine glasses while making giggly small talk. One friend (a self-professed lech) suggests I keep drinking. Bad idea. Another, Joy, is lounging, chilled-out on the floor while Jia Jia looks chilled but I know she’s secretly cautious, playing out all sorts of potentially awkward scenarios in her head. I keep checking my phone clock obsessively. Our ManServant is due to arrive at 5 pm sharp. We have booked him for two hours – just enough time for us to hide the evidence before my husband gets home from work.

4.58 pm: My phone buzzes and I jump. It’s a text message announcing that our ManServant is on his way. We are now waiting for the doorbell to ring with bated breath. The tension is palpable.

5.00 pm: My phone rings. It’s the doorman from downstairs. Shit, I forgot we had given our ManServant a very special name…

Doorman: “Hello? I have Mr. Darcy for you downstairs. Do you want to send him up?”

Me: (Starting out nonchalant and confident) Yes, please send him (at this point I give up and dissolve in a fit of giggles. My friends follow suit with cacophonous laughter and much rolling around the couch)…up (I think this last part gets lost in the ruckus).

Oh no. What is going to happen tonight?

Aside: I have a very special place in my heart for Mr. Darcy from Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”. I have had this obsession ever since the age of 12 when I first watched Colin-Firth-as-Mr.Darcy dive into a lake fully clothed, emerging soaked to the bone, disheveled and ten times more smouldering than ever. If I had to build my fantasy guy, this vision of Mr. Darcy would always be at the top of my list. My heart beats faster as I imagine what our own Mr. Darcy will be like tonight…

5.02 pm: The doorbell finally rings. It’s him!  Mr. Darcy is indeed tall, dark and handsome with a lock of perfectly styled, wavy hair falling across his forehead and wearing a crisp black suit. He introduces himself (sadly with an American accent rather than Colin Firth’s clipped British tones, but this will do). He seems absolutely lovely. He tells us the doorman thought he was a stripper given the loud noises we were making over the phone (uh-oh). He meets the excited group and then I show him to the kitchen to start concocting some delectable libations.

5.15 pm: Mr. Darcy is making himself at home. At first I feel quite uncomfortable sitting around and being served in my own home but start to relax a little more as time passes.

5.25 pm: Darcy comes out with a platter of beautifully arranged appetizers and four old-fashioned cocktails. “A generic drink to start you off, then I’ll make each of you a custom cocktail once I get to know you better”. Wow. We could certainly get used to this. We suggest he produce one more round of drinks for us before we get to the ‘personalized’ part of the evening. The tipsier we get, the easier this all will be.

5.45 pm: Our beloved ManServant comes out again with four delicious rye-based cocktails with spice and pineapple. Mmmmmm. He then takes a seat and we start opening up a little more. He’s really sweet, listening to each of us intently, asking questions and lavishing us each with a bit of personal attention. Who could have guessed this simple act would make us feel this good? I mention my Indian roots and love of scotch, our lecherous friend divulges her obsession with wine, Jia Jia as always delivers an eloquent and sophisticated speech about herself, full of cultured-sounding references, and chilled-out Joy on the floor declares herself to be a free spirit. Food for thought indeed. Mr. Darcy ponders this information, then returns to the kitchen to conjure up our mystery drinks.

6.15 pm: He has returned! He hands me a spicy scotch-based drink entitled ‘South Indian Scot’. For our wine-loving friend, he delivers the ‘Terrible Wine-o’, for Jia Jia ‘The Name Dropper’ and for Joy, the tequila-based ‘Outlaw’. Each drink has been crafted so artistically that it is a pleasure to behold. We are truly being spoilt. By now, we are each two or three drinks in and stuffing ourselves with food. In our indulged state, it is a perfect time to commence the final part of our evening.

6.20 pm: I pass around printouts of a scene from Pride and Prejudice, the first proposal scene where Elizabeth Bennett (a.k.a Lizzy) rejects the haughty Mr. Darcy. We have had the brilliant idea that I should read aloud the part of Lizzy and who else but our own Mr. Darcy should do the same for his namesake. Mr. Darcy (the live one) is certainly game for this, as we stumble around the room to put ourselves ‘en-scene’ and prepare our best posh voices.

6.30 pm: Reading commences. Jia Jia and Joy narrate while our other friend photographs us. I am sitting right next to Mr. Darcy, huddled over one copy of the script (convenient). This whole thing feels surreal – I am finally acting out my ultimate fantasy in my living room while drunk with a stranger in a suit, speaking in Victorian English. He trips over a few of the words but for the most part does a commendable, if rather monotone, job. I try to inject some fire and passion into my reading of the feisty Lizzy, while our narrators struggle to keep up while managing bouts of laughter. This reminds me of English class when we were 12-years old. Of course, our suited and elegant ManServant is a considerable improvement on our balding middle-aged teacher!

7.00 pm:  After more delightful eating, drinking and free-flowing conversation, our evening has come to a close. We bid adieu to Mr. Darcy (we never do find out his real name, as per the ManServant Code). All in all, a unique experience and one that we (and our doorman) won’t forget for quite some time.

Now to clear all this up before my husband gets home…

For those of you who are inspired by our tale, here are some tips for a successful ManServant experience of your own:

• You need a princess (like me) to host this. Sweet, polite, self-conscious enough to get slightly embarrassed, but gung ho enough about refined service to see this experience through from beginning to end.
• The princess needs sidekicks. We had a lech, a chill thinker (Joy) and a passer-of-judgment (Jia Jia).
• If you give your ManServant a conspicuous name (like Mr. Darcy), know that you’ll have to deal with your security guy telling you that Mr. Darcy has arrived.
• Have ample alcohol and other condiments. This experience is supposed to be a delight for the senses.
• Treat the whole thing as a half-performance—you’re essentially being a gigglier, more delighted and delightful version of yourself. But don’t overdo it ‘cos that’s just bad acting.
• Act out your literary scenarios or any other fantasies you choose. It’s a wonderful way to top off the evening.