out to play

Well that was interesting.

First, my boob popped out at French. I was talking candidly to my teacher and the class about retiring in Provence with Reechard ‘Ammond and/or Colin Firth when I’m 60, where I could write books all day and buy fresh leaks from the market, and out it popped.

That old chestnut.

‘Attonseeyon!’ she cried, and there is was. In all it’s B Cup glory.

Starting to wonder now if it wasn’t doing that all day (I blame the cut of my dress), amongst meetings and other client-facing relations.

Oh well, who hasn’t seen boobs? If they were a sizeable pair of massive cahones then I’d do it more often. Quite frankly.

Then, driving back home, this Joburg Metro Police Van pulls up alongside me at a traffic light.
Immediately think ‘Act not guilty act not guilty.’
Even with a valid driver’s license, license disc, car papers, the works, and not a pindrop of narcotic within any vicinity of my va-heeicle.
At that moment, are, in fact, the most innocent person to drive along Jan Smuts Avenue.
Yet still feel like you should stop singing to the loud music that’s pumping out of your window. And be all stiff and conservative.

Anyway the copper driving, starts waving at me. In a friendly fashion, not a ‘pull over I’m gonna frisk you’ fashion.

Is this a trap?

I sort of smile and think, ‘Fuck.’
Then he continues by waving and smiling and mouthing something along the lines of ‘Hey how’re you’re doing,’ while his copper mates next to him sit there and roll their eyes.

Is this policeman Traffic Charfing me?

I roar ahead and another light turns red and yet again. He makes a movement for me to roll down my window.
In ordinary circumstances – as in non-desirable traffic spadage - I’d look straight ahead and scowl. Like I was concentrating hard on something. ‘Cept this was a policeman.

Crap.
Rolled down window.

‘Hiyi!!’ he says. Continuing to wave like an enthusiastic human.

‘Hello.’ I wave back ever so retardedly.

[awkward silence.]

‘That’s…quite a truck you have there…Mister Officer.’

[WTF?]

Looked down. Oh dear God.

The breast – Elizabeth as always – that naughty naughty minx – has come out to play again. (It’s never Hannah, my right boobie, she never pops out. It’s always Elizabeth. Keeping a leash on that one is hard fucken work.]

Do you think he saw?

aunty peas, the pipe blower

'Twas almost the night before Christmas. Give or take. The protagonist is seen making her way to her car, after klapping a tequila for the road. She'd been wining (vodka and sodaring) and dining with her friends at a restaurant.

Nearly home. Turn abruptly left into...a massive road block. I'm not hammered; but I'm not a contestant in Who Wants To Be A Practicing Nun either.

They are stopping every single car, including mine.

Cop: Shining torch into my face. (How's that eczema at close range, big guy?) “Have you been drinking?”

Peas: “I've had two drinks. In four hours.” (Not completely a blatant lie. Just a very obscure form of the truth.)

Cop: “License please. And then I'm going to breathalise you.”

Peas: (Now shaking uncontrollably as I do when I'm mortally and crazily terrified) “Sorry I'm shaking so much Mr Officer.. (I said that. “Mr Officer.” What am I, in Beverly Hills Cop?) “...I'm just scared because I've never done that before. You know, blown on a policeman's pipe.”

I said that too. Blown on a policeman's pipe. I'd, in some frame of context, just informed him, I wasn't in no uncertain terms, going to blow the bejesus out of him. Great start.

Mr Officer: “Do you know what the limit is? It's 0.5. Tembo, wena! uBreathaliser uMachine.
If you're over that limit, you will be put in the back of that van, you will then go to jail until next Thursday, then we will take your blood; you will go to court and you will be charged.”

The shaking has just been given an oral performance enhancer. I can barely breathe.

Peas: (Squeaks). “OK, you know I live about 150 metres from here.”

Mr Officer: “Breathe into this.”

Aunty Peas blows it. And for the 0.2 seconds it takes to register the results, she thinks, Jail until Thursday. Maybe I'll survive, I mean, I don't need to be in the office, so I don't need to explain my whereabouts to my boss...

Mr Officer: (Hides the results. Either way it can't be under. It can't be way over either. I mean I just sobered up completely in the last 5 seconds of pure torture.)
“Bad news.”

Peas: Jesus fuck.

Mr Officer: “Your car license disc has expired.”

Peas: What?

Mr Officer: "You want me to charge you for drunken driving or for an expired license disc?"

Peas: Um...if we have to choose, can we do the car license disc?

[pause]

Mr Officer: "That disc expired nine days ago."

Peas: "Dude. I mean Mr Officer. I haven't had a chance to do my Christmas shopping yet. I haven't even had a chance to basically shave my legs for three days and I know it's the last thing you want to hear, but please don't fine me. I have really really good intentions to go to the traffic department really really soon and get it done and I know you just doing your job, but please don't fine me....please?"

(So excited I'm wearing a low slung top with a push-up bra that sort-of half spills my tiny noombies out of my shirt.)

Mr Officer: "But my colleagues will see me let you off."

Peas: "You're so handsome."

Mr Officer: "Eish what?"

Peas: "Sorry, sorry. I just really think I will sort it out, I promise."

Mr Officer: "OK you can go."

Peas: "Beg pardon?...oh fuck that's fantastic thanks so much bye."

That's still not the reason why I'm not drinking. As terrifying as it was. And it could've been a whole lot worse. But it's not the reason. Although, now I will voluntarily stop at road blocks and blow their pipes just to show 'em.