At about 2:14pm yesterday, the afternoon took a decidedly unsavoury swing.
After my old duck read yesterday’s post, I received this email:
My dear Peas
So you think I'm cool? Well I think I can top the coolness with a great little story that you don't know. My memories of the Great Wall of China are sweeeeet.
I don't think there are many people on Earth who can claim to belong to the "Wall of China Club" - similar to the Mile High Club!!!!
Thanks for the praise and honesty and for being such a great daughter.
Love you lots
Well that bit of information fucked up the rest of my afternoon.
Why the need to share, seriously, why the need?
Forget about writing a feature on Christmas window displays, as indulgently exciting as that is. Instead flew around the communal bathroom opening cabinet doors, irrationally and haphazardly, not unlike a heroine addict catatonically searching for a fix he knows he will not find.
I was looking for a stray IV drip filled with Moonshine. In the extremely unlikely case one of my clairvoyant colleagues foresaw this mother-daughter sex situation and considerately left one for me.
Mum - that's REVOLTING. I accept we are friends as well as standard mother and daughter, but no sexual details please. YUCK! Now I can't think straight, this is so hectic. I’ll be in a pub for the rest of the evening.
C dragged me to the Bowling Club for an emergency alcohol injection, on suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. I cannot see straight out of one eye, and when people make sudden movements in my vicinity or mention the word s-e-x, I have a petit mal.
So the night went a little va-jay-jay, but I blame my mum’s email.
So R came along too. Thing is, we’re mates with a lot of the same crowd since we’ve been friends for a long time. Yet, they sort of cottoned on last night that something is different and sort of happening with us.
We all ate pizza and schnitzel and spoke shit like usual.
I got some bonnet action.
His car has just been serviced and is all scrubbed up and stuff. And on saying goodbye, he placed me on his bonnet and I got a lovely little snog. Nice. I liked it. He has booked our B & B in Natal for the weekend after next. It’s booked and ready to go.
Then C and I had a nightcap at the Jolly Dodger. I hurt myself on a wall. Why am I so bloody clumsy?
We’re going to an awesome 80s party on Saturday. Now 80s is my fave-fave va-jay-jay favourite. The Dove, C, The Ant, N and I bought shit from Hospice, which is nothing short of absolutely revolting. Think grotesque ribbons, satin, shoulder pads, pure solid and delightful 80s revoltingness. My outfit is most probably a secretary in Vanderbijlpark's matric ball gown. I’ve told R to doll himself up. He’s been warned. We’re going to look atrocious.