itye

Last night I did the usual things after arriving home after work.
Snacked compulsively from the refrigerator, put loud music on, poured a glass of wine not doing that at the moment, taking a long languid bath, then watching Home & Away.

But I took it one step too far and completely freaked me and The Ant (when she arrived home much later) out.
I was told, that after Yves got saturated in monocycliaticstereac-bi-nucleol acid, that he would fall off from underneath after a few days. I should probably pull him off.

Yves was a sizeable wart.

And last night I realised he was much more attractive as a gnarly hump than a hole in my knee.

I lifted it up to find a giant hole and showed The Ant. I nearly vomited, she went ‘tut tut, just put some of this tea tree oil on it.’

[high pitched mono-syllabic scream]

It is unbelievably and exceptionally gross. And so sore, I’m walking round like someone who has one leg longer than the other.

On a better note, I’m reading American Pyscho. The man is incredible. (And insane of course, what with the expletives on blood and chainsaws and the merging of the sanguine and said chainsaw). But he can just rattle off an entire outfit on all the persons he bumps into in a coke-induced stupor at a nightclub or his co-workers.
“She’s wearing a Carducci woollen chemise, with a Hermés scarf. Her woollen, pleated Oscar de la Renta pencil skirt, accentuates her crocodile Christian Louboutins…”
Impeccable and near impossible detail, surely?
No one could possibly remember every single Spring Collection item that say, Pierre Cardin has made? The observations of a true professional. The minutiae is unbelievable.

Then The Ant told me there was a time when she could do this. Of course the collections were more in light of the lesser known haute couturists.
“Your outfit…let me see…top from YDE, jeans from Pulsate, shoes from, most certainly the Oriental Plaza. Shop unsure, but probably Mohammed’s Shoes or something like that…accessories, notably that cuff bracelet…Phillippa Green… jacket from Big Blue as well.”

Amazing. Must be the Itye upbringing.

And Itye she is: if this is not an example of her Ityeness, then what – pray – is?
The Ant knows the Fattis and the Monis. As of South Africa’s favourite pasta products: Fattis & Monis.
Not one. Both families.
Her grandfather came out to make pasta and then got bought out by them. She says for some reason her grandfather isn’t on particularly friendly terms with the Monis, but the Fattis seem pleasant.
One Fatti went out with The Ant’s friend. Mrs Moni used to be a regular shopper at the store The Ant worked at back in the day. Knowing a Fatti or a Moni is just about as good as say, knowing Mrs Ball of Mrs Ball's Chutney.

Now that’s heritage.

The only claim to fame I have with my original French ancestry is that a French boyfriend I had was second cousins with Pierre Cardin.

(Smoking Legs: I have a meatball recipe.
Peas: Mmmmm… meaty, juicy balls.
Smoking Legs: I'll make you some juicy balls Wednedsay night.)

So excited for some juicy balls!