*cue Clint Eastwood cowboy music*
It is the day. My car is leaking and the handbrake is failing. Wessons, I leave my baby on your front stoep at ten a.m, praying you will feed and clothe her, and return her to me in time for dinner.
The car-less day stands before me like a bright, blinding desert full of thorns. with snakes. and air-borne HIV-bearing spiders.
a deathly day.
today is also the day I am watching a show up at PJ Olivier Hoerskool, which is up at the top of a hill which is not very ergonomically friendly.
Usually these days I speed up there in my little golf feeling like a damn cool gangster (minus when above-mentioned handbrake falls down, and I roll back down the hill)…but today I am forced to walk.
Just my luck, it is incredibly hot for winter, and I am wearing four layers of warm clothes, plus two pairs of socks. Mmmm, toasty squelchiness.
Once, in the days before my car-dom, I used to walk up and down the hill all the time – and thus I developed some mighty calves of steel.
Small children used to develop asthma if they stared at my bare calves for too long.
Older men would develop prostate cancer, while young women would make sexual advances.
This year, despite my frenetic dancing all over Cathedral monuments (for my Drama course, of course), I am developing a disturbing anomaly…in brief, the steel has morphed into microwaved phutu, and now when people look at my calves they just hand me flyers for WeighLess programs.
I phoned my mother for support, but she mostly critiqued my latest lovelife shenanigans (post coming up on that too, behold and beseech, oh ye of little faith).
Anyway, let me relieve this blog post of its meagre narrative, I made it up the hill alive, and watched an amazing show called “Boston Marriage” (review coming up too!)…and then on my way out, I called the mighty Wessons mechanics, and off they went to my rescue.
I think it’s kinda cute they know my name at this point.
I think the Hi Tec boys may just have met their match. I may just have to switch on my polygamy button and marry one guy from each company. Security officer, mechanic, now all I’ll need is a chef.
Oh hang on, I think I dated one once when I was in first year. Should probably Facebook him or something.