Or just about. A classy establishment in Sandton is about to go down in flames. Tonight I am entering the proverbial snake pit. And, unwittingly, so is poor Small Bum.
On Ex S’ and my break-up, we had to split various assets. Furniture, CDs, photographs, friends, the lease.
Tonight is a mutual friend’s birthday party. ‘Mutual’ is a loaded term, as we all know that he got custody. He won her in the divorce proceedings. Which is fine with me on all accounts.
So I have RSVPed myself and Small Bum to this ridiculous drinks ensemble, of which I am considered the bad guy simply because its a ‘his friends’ do, so I am the outsider. The beeyutch. Regardless of Ex S’ close familial shagging.
Ah, then there’s the Ex himself.
With the high probability of Booby Bitch latched onto his arm.
I am going simply to prove a point. Naturally. It’s unusual for me to waste a Friday night like this. I will walk in there, hopefully looking so ridiculously smoking hot people’s eyes sting, and everyone will turn around to kind of gasp and wonder how to approach my new boyfriend. Most probably won’t. Luckily Small Bum is a friendly, cheerful sort of chap who will have no problem introducing himself, and I am confident that he will handle things beautifully.
There is one of endless options of how this may turn out:
- Punches will be thrown between Small Bum and Ex S. Undoubtedly Ex S will make the first swing.
- Punches will be thrown between Booby Bitch and myself. Undoubtedly I’ll make the first swing, pull her hair and use foul language.
- Ex S won’t arrive with Booby ‘The Boob’ Bitch, and will turn on his heel when he sees me with Small Bum.
- Small Bum and I will instantly leave if when does arrive with The Boob.
- I will start shaking uncontrollably.
- Ex S and I will pretend that each other doesn’t exist, to the point of staring right through each other. As mature people do.
- His friends will completely ignore me.
- His friends will ask why I bothered to pitch up.
- His friends will fall in love with Small Bum, waxing endless lyrical about how good we are together, how funny he is, and that we should all go camping together.
- I will get hopelessly drunk, dance on the bar counter and need to be carried out.
- The party isn’t really happening, it’s one big lie, and we’ll end up going to see a bloody movie instead.
- The party is a lie. We’ll drive to the airport and get on the first plane to Istanbul and never come back.
- The two other ex-partners in the group will have a fight, taking the heat off our situation.
- The public toilets of the bar will explode, meaning everyone has to evacuate within five minutes of our arrival.
- Ex S won’t pitch up at all due to an untimely case of amoebic dysentery, leaving him glued to his toilet seat for the rest of the weekend.
- Ex S won’t arrive because he knows Small Bum and I will be there.
- Ex S won’t arrive because he knows I’ll be there.
- Ex S won’t arrive because he lost track of time whilst shagging The Boob up against a wall, when suddenly his knob falls off, and he spends the rest of the night in a urology ward at the Joburg Gen.
- Ex S won’t arrive because his car doesn’t start. Because The Boob’s ass messed up the catalytic converters. Somehow.
- Small Bum will refuse to enter the building.
- They get along famously. Ex S and Small Bum decide they are long lost mates. Making me exit very quickly.
- We’ll have one drink, congratulate the birthday girl and get the fuck out of there before everything dramatically explodes in a forage of drinks throwing, hair pulling, punching, friends getting involved, tears and loud screaming.
- Everything will dramatically explode in a forage of drinks throwing, hair pulling, punching, friends getting involved, tears and loud screaming.
I don’t know whether to be excited or shit myself senseless.
Or ask a mate to take pictures.
The only thing you can do for me now, dear readers, is wish me oodles of luck. (And DHL-me a bottle of Johnny Red for Dutch courage.)