I am awesome

I think I may have just turned a corner last night. C came round for a comforting glass of red, and I told her my new revelation. It went something like this:

If Small Bum doesn't think I'm fabulous then there has got to be something wrong with him. Because I am fabulous. Sodding Small Bum has taught me a few things: it pays to be arrogant, and, never use self-tan. I'm over it. I will not cry one more tear over that frightful shit. Why? Someone else out there will think I'm amazing. I'm backing myself 100%. I have no time for people like Small Bum, who are immature and don't see a good thing if it slapped them in their face.
All he talked about was himself, so in retrospect, thank God I have my own space now to be fabulous and awesome without him cramping my style. Good riddence you little shit!

Tonight I will go clubbing. With my newly-found confidence and hopefully a new pair of shoes.

But first, I have to eat dinner with his hockey chick mates.
("If he's doing half as well as I am...I'm amazing."
One of these options could occur at dinner:

1) I will go to the restaurant where my mate K, and Small Bum’s hockey chicks will be dining. And immediately freak out and evacuate.
2) I will go to the restaurant where my mate K, and Small Bum’s hockey chicks will be dining. And immediately get pissed.
3) On getting pissed, and therefore following on from Option 2), I will back myself 100% and they will think my self-esteem has risen from the cesspit of underachievement to likeable arrogance.
4) On getting pissed, and therefore following on from Option 2), I will get cocky, and possibly slap W from across the table, knocking her prawn cocktail straight into her lap, and thereafter exiting extremely quickly in order to not get fucked up proper by her impeding hockey stick.
5) I will punch W, and she’ll whack me over the head with her hockey stick. Only she’ll miss my head and whack someone else instead, by which attracting a “Why does that girl bring her hockey stick to dinner?” from dazed and perplexed onlookers.
6) I will bring Third World Ant with me, with her boyfriend possibly in tow, and I will ooze the confidence of someone who realises that she doesn't need a man to make her happy.
7) I will look beautiful. So beautiful, everyone will immediately faint on impacting their eyes towards my face.
8) I will set the establishment alight with a stray match.
9) I will get a mysterious call from my childhood sweetheart, who happens to know my number, who happens to know where I live, and who happens to want to shag me up against a wall. Of which I’d happily oblige. And can dinner altogether.
10) I’ll delight everyone with my endless wit and charm, perhaps buy the whole table a shooter, then leave. And go find me some ass.
11) My car breaks down and I can’t go out.

I pick number 6.


Because somewhere, out there, there is someone who thinks I'm incredible. Perfect. Awesome. And until we meet, I'm perfectly happy spreading my wonderfulness around Johannesburg all by myself. And so, I wake with a new lease of life, and Small Bum fades into the hazy distance. Yeehah!

PS: It took him four months to find 'the perfect' dressing gown. He settled on velour after much technical and self-absorbed debate. It got longwinded. I rest my case.

PPS: Watch out Rivonia, here I come.