My brother went clubbing for the first time over the weekend, but judging from everything he had to say about the experience, I’m guessing it’s probably going to be his last too.

You see, unlike many guys his age, my brother’s idea of a night on the town involves some kind of masculine sport followed by a good dinner or great movie rather than pressing up against sweaty bodies to the thumping beats of house music. Which is why it came as no surprise that he had plenty to say, albeit none of it good, about his first visit to a nightclub.

All the emotions that welled up within me – both from laughing at his account and the realisation that my little brother had grown up – got me thinking about my “first times”, and it was such a fun trip down memory lane that I thought I’d share a few of the funnier, and more embarrassing, experiences.

Unfortunately for me, my first dance wasn’t the least bit romantic but it was definitely memorable. I was 15, pimply, with greasy centre-parted bangs, and at a youth mixer with a bunch of friends.

All I remember was being thrust upon an equally greasy and pimply guy the moment Ronan Keating’s When You Say Nothing At All came on, as my cheeks burned and everyone around us cheered.

Needless to say, it was one of the most awkward moments of my life, and the only consolation I had was that the poor guy must have felt just as bad as I did, if not worse.

A year after the aforementioned incident (when my pimples had cleared up and I had decided to wash my hair), I somehow managed to get asked out on a “date” by a friend’s brother.

Unfortunately for me again, it was about as romantic as my first dance. We arranged to meet at Toa Payoh interchange, had lunch at a nearby coffee shop and then headed back to his place … so I could watch him play his guitar. (I assure you, this is not a euphemism.)

I was so bored that I remember reading the contents of the label on his deodorant so many times that I had committed it to memory by the time I left.

Having been raised a rather conservative mother and an overprotective father, I had never been allowed to stay out past midnight, much less go clubbing, even though all my friends had been going on a weekly basis the moment they turned 18. So imagine my excitement when I stepped into Movida at the ripe old age of 21.

Because I had no idea what appropriate club attire was – in a year when midriffs and super low-slung skinny jeans were the norm – I turned up in a very sweet white, lace dress, looking every bit the blushing, club virgin with two left feet that I was. Thankfully, I enjoyed myself substantially more than my brother says he did on his first time, possibly because of the copious amounts of alcohol that were bestowed upon me.

There are many other “first times” that I could tell you about, but trust me, it’s way more fun to reminisce about your own. It’s nice to know that what seemed like the world’s most painfully embarrassing situation at the time will actually be something you can laugh about down the road. And it’s always nice to remember yourself when you were a little pimplier, a little greasier, and a whole lot more innocent.