So my aunt is out from Canada. This is my mother’s older sister. The crazy sister. The one who smoked too much pot at school, married an oke who picked her up on the Trans Canadian while hitch hiking across the country, then divorced him and remained living in Quebec indefinitely, parties like Jim Morrison, has a shiroot with me behind the house, follows the Rolling Stones around on tour, and farts in public.
She has no problem breaking wind in the aisles of K-Mart. Or in this case, Boardman’s, while checking out tea trays with my mother. It’s both hilarious and excruciatingly embarrassing at the same time.
She’s great to have around at a social gathering, less the shooting of bunnies in the medium of compulsive baffing. One just has to ensure the hi-fi is pumping at full volume. Family gatherings with her around are never dull, let’s put it this way.
Anyway, she’s staying with mum, and I’m taking her out over the weekend for a thrash.
Aunty: So I hear you’re seeing a new guy.
Peas: Not really. Sort of.
Aunty: Your mother’s busy preparing the garden for the little pitter patter of feet. Place for a swing set.
Peas: This conversation is officially over.
Aunty: Just kidding.
Peas: How was the flight over?
Aunty: The lady next to me stuffed up my video settings. I was forced to watch XXX with that dreadful Vin Diesel.
Peas: That is unfortunate. Wanna go clubbing with me this weekend?
Aunty: Definitely. I’ll have cabin fever before then.
Peas: Just please, you know, don’t fart. At least not in front of my mates.
Aunty: Farting is natural Peas! C’mon. Nobody cares.
Peas: Just cut down on the cabbage or beans or whatever it is you eat before the weekend.
Speaking of eccentric family members: my father flies into town on Friday.
The world also stops turning on Friday. His arrival always takes a fair bit of mental preparation.
He’s doing some press review as a mystery guest for an exclusive hotel in Sandton. They offered him a business class flight up here, but no, Dad had other ideas. But of course.
Instead he’s choosing to fly his own vomit comet up from Cape Town. Naturally. He has to land in like three places across the country to refuel on the way. And, of course, I have to pick him up at an airstrip on the border of Mpumalanga. I insisted he get a rental car this time, and he actually obliged. Thing is, rentals don’t come cheap at Fuckfontein Airstrip. So I’ll be there flagging him down to take him to a rental place in Sandton.
As you well might’ve imagined, when my folks were still married, my aunt and father got on like a house on fire. Birds of a feather fl…you know the rest.
Went for dinner at C’s house with a couple of other awesome girls I know. Was awesome, chilled.
But. Came home to a complete blitzkrieg: there was no electricity in Illovo last night. To think I bitched about my stupid plug socket last week. Not a light, just pure solid blackness. I parked in the [creepy] underground dungeon basement and flailed around in pure, thick darkness trying to find the front door while trying not to think about slasher movies, and bumped straight into Lucas the security guard.
I had an absolute apoplexy. I screamed like a shrieking banshee pornstar fishwife and nearly punched his adorable old face out of pure, unadulterated fear. Then I needed I slash, and peeing in the dark is always terrifying. You never know whether something will come up through the bowels of the toilet mechanism and bite you on your ass. Or grab your poen. Or, you know, slash your bum off. Luckily, luckily, the lights came on before I completely freaked out.