Category: My Lovely Man

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Why can’t you just love me?

We recently saved a little tortoise and now he is at home with us.

Tommy I named him. Because… well, I’m lazy and uncreative at my core.

A tortoise, as it turns out, is a remarkably easy pet to have. Completely undemanding and quite reserved.

Found out my neighbour has a tortoise so I asked her for advice and she said that they do nothing. Nothing! Their tortoise lives off whatever is in the garden and only occasionally makes an appearance. He has been in this state in their garden for years she tells me.

This, of course, is totally unacceptable. He is not meeting expectations.

The first few days he seemed determined to break out of our garden. I fretted that perhaps he was a she, and there were abandoned eggs somewhere, but established that Tommy is indeed a male (whatever they may identify as).

The ever intrepid Mandova, almost as excited about Tommy as I was, secured the premises and had all kinds of ideas re. his care.

We have both had our hearts broken at Tommy’s complete lack of interest in our endeavors and outpourings of affection.

I spent many days checking on him, picking him up, crooning to him, scratching his back lovingly, buying a grocery store of tempting veggies and greens to feed him. He wants none of it. Or me.

I brought him in every night out of the cold (although truth be told, the house is a fridge and we would all be better off sleeping in the garden).

Should we make a place for him on the bed I asked my long suffering lovely man, who already has to wind himself around several inconsiderate animals to kip.

Doesn’t he wee on you every time you pick him up was his only comment. Well yes, I said, but I’m sure that’s his sign of affection. He’ll be house trained in no time.

In truth, Tommy, remarkably fast, does everything he can, to hide from me.

How long before he knows his name and comes when I call I asked my lovely man. He probably does know your voice already and is trying to ignore you replied my not so lovely man. He thinks you are a pain he continued, leave the chap alone, he’s a wild animal and wants to hibernate. You keep on getting Mandova to find him and then you wake him up to give him unwanted love and food.

Alfie, I reminded him, was a wild animal once, and he is now domesticated and loving. Alfie, he replied, is a complete mommy’s boy and wouldn’t survive two minutes in the wild.

And that, people, is how I like it. I have high hopes for Tommy’s turn around come summer.

I am not beyond forcing him to love me.

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Yes, I need a coffee ☕

I have been quite disciplined with my eating for some months, and dropped some weight.

But, in recent weeks, have failed somewhat.

So, to kick start myself back to good habits, I decided to do a detox programme I saw advertised.

The lady who promotes this and who kindly delivered my meals for the forseable future is indeed an advert for her product. Fabulously fit and toned. Arrived in skimpy shorts. Get inside I had to say to my lovely man.

Aren’t you cold I asked her, dressed like a polar bear myself. No, I’m just back from the gym she announced.

Of course. Also, I think she’s British. They don’t feel the cold do they?

You might get a slight headache as you are not allowed caffeine she announced.

Oh, I’m not worried, I told her, I’m not a big coffee or wine drinker. It’s quite nice, the fantasy in my head, I make the rules.

So, I diligently downed the first green smoothie thing and my lovely man observed my face and enquired if I was actually paying money to be this miserable.

One of the drinks seemed to be tomatoes and tabasco. I thought it might actually kill me.

How are you feeling my lovely man asked me in the morning. (After day one).

Well, I said, my weight is down, but I think I have a brain tumour and need you to take me to the hospital please.

Aaah, he said, you have a headache, should I bring you a coffee rather?

What I have learnt from this exercise :

I am not brave when in pain.

I would rather never eat again than face that tabasco smoothie.

I can, quite surprisingly, manage without wine, but am, it seems addicted to coffee.

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What’s that smell?

My lovely man is of great support to me and does many (read all), of the household chores.

Don’t you want one? Get your own, this one’s mine.

He often uses my little car to run around in.  It’s a ‘fuel saver’ vs a ‘ gas guzzler’.

The other morning we were having our pre-walk morning cuppa (and choccie biscuit) and he announced.  ‘ I don’t think I took the shopping out of the car yesterday, let me check’.

I’m sure it’s all fine he continued a little later… I’ve put the chicken in the freezer, all good.

Darling, I said, I don’t think that’s clever, shouldn’t we throw that chicken away?

It’s for the dogs he said, I’m sure it will be fine.  (I, of course, would take a bullet for my dogs, so this is NOT fine really).

I don’t get to drive my car, or any car very often.  My lovely man is the designated driver as a rule.  When we first started dating, he was very complimentary of my driving.  Now that the honeymoon is over there are any number of suggestions, instructions, and pleas to Jesus for help when I drive.  

But I had occasion (read boozy girls lunch), to go out by myself and lowered myself into my car and trundled off.

On my return, I asked my lovely man if it was my car that he had used when he went shopping and left the chicken in the car.

Yes, I think so, he said, it’s easier to park, why do you ask?

Because, darling, my car smells like something has died in it.

So now, not only do we have to empty the freezer of any chicken so that no-one in the household dies, I also have to sell or perhaps set alight my car. 

Perhaps you can have him after all.

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Say that again?

My lovely man is a bit hard of hearing.

The entire household seems to be, because certainly no one listens to me, including all the animals.

I am often reminded of a dear fellow that I worked with who informed me ‘ Rosie, your voice is pitched like a dog whistle, none of us have a chance.’

I digress.

On a recent morning walk, we were approached by some fellows who had saved a tortoise that was (slowly we presume), dodging the traffic.  Precious little thing.  Because this is Africa, we had to pay them and I carried the dear little thing triumphantly home.

I have always had a fondness for tortoises, and this little guy has now come into our lives!  That’s how it happens with animals isn’t it? 

I am likely to be lambasted because perhaps he’s exotic and we should not be looking after him.  But I love him already.  We’ll figure out for sure what the right thing to do is.  Better in the garden than the traffic surely?

Let’s call him Tommy I suggested to my lovely man.  How do you know he’s he, he asked.  My sister, I advised him, said that male shells are more rounded, and female shells are flatter.

Oh, he said, how on earth would she know that, should I Google it too?

She’s quite smart I said, but yes, you can Google it.

What should I ask Google he asked me.

Ask Google ‘ How do I sex a tortoise’ I suggested.

There are no results, he advised somberly, for ‘ How do I text a tortoise’ , I think we are doing it wrong.

Don’t you just love him? I’m sure he does it on purpose to entertain me.  He’s the best.

Tommy, it turns out, prefers the pronoun ‘ they ‘ .

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It’s just routine

My lovely man and I have a bit of an exercise routine.  Nothing to get excited about, just a daily walk and a bit of stretching and Pilates. Not very far (the walk) and it’s chair Pilates.

Still, we are better off for doing it and quite smug about the effort.

I say routine, but we are easily jolted out of this routine for a variety of reasons (insert irrelevant excuse here), and then it takes some effort to get back into it.

Anyway, with enormous discipline we once again staggered off on our walk today after some weeks of abstinence.

But!  This time I strapped some extra weight onto my ankles.

A friend I used to walk with has some of these ankle/wrist weights and I was greatly admiring of them, and her.

These are the reason she looks fabulous, and I look like shit I pondered.

So, I ordered some. 

I am a great Take a Lot fan.  I only recently discovered Take a Lot, but since then, am single handedly, I believe, keeping them afloat. 

I use their services when I am in Zimbabwe. Via a runner. Also a recent discovery. I am clearly a late bloomer.

Very sadly, most goods in Zimbabwe are so horrifically overpriced that it is cheaper to shop this way. Illegally I mean. Don’t tell Al Jazeera.

This really, is all the excuse I need to shop. Cheaper.  There should be a 12-step plan for Take a Lot.

Why have you ordered that my lovely man inquires after every delivery of goodies.  Because it’s cheaper, I reply.  But he continues, do we need it?

How irrelevant. Men.

When I ordered my wrist/ankle weights, I contemplated the 2kg pair.  Luckily, I settled on 1kg an ankle really.

Are you ready to go my lovely man asked.  Well, yes, I said, as soon as I find the strength to lift my weighted foot off this chair and put it on the ground again.

I’m not carrying those for you when you get tired, he warned.  He’s not an idiot. He gives me a similar warning every time we go out and it’s a bit nippy.  Take a jacket, I’m not giving you mine. 

And then, of course, he does.  Bless him. Not without some mutters.

Are you OK he asked as I gasped along on the walk.  Sure, I replied, but I’m likely to need a double knee replacement.

I better end up as fabulous as my friend.

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Who’s the loveliest then?

When we travel, the trusty Mandova looks after our animals.

Mandova has titled himself ‘Estate Manager’. We appreciate him greatly.

Because he is kind, and my dogs in particular, are needy, they sleep with him when we are away. He sends me videos of them in their little baskets in his bedroom.

My lovely man broods on this and intermittently suggests we try and get the pups to sleep in their baskets vs the bed. This results in me fretting all night that they are sad and getting up no less than six times in the night to take them off the bed and put them back in their baskets. When we wake up in the morning, after eventually falling into an exhausted sleep, everyone is on the bed anyway. It’s all pretty pointless and exhausting.

How do you keep the dogs off your bed my lovely man asked Mandova, exasperated. Oh, he says, they start off in their baskets, but when I wake up, they are both on the bed. Also, Bella snores.

Bless him.

Our Bella ensures we prove our love every day. Part of this requires us to carry her to bed. Years ago, I explained this to my lovely man when he asked where she was at bed time. He has a soft spot for her, so this has become his nightly duty. She doesn’t make it easy. Sometimes she hides herself in the garden for extra proof that she is loved. He sighs, switches off the alarm, tracks her down and carries her through. She accepts this adoringly, administors kisses, gets kisses back and he tucks her in next to him.

It’s these things that make me count my blessings people.

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Yes.. I identify as…

We are enjoying a few days at the magnificent Victoria Falls. 

I know, so lucky. 

Our resort offers a shuttle service into town. They don’t encourage you to walk too far around here because of the wild animals. Having said that, the locals walk everywhere. Out of necessity one presumes. 

Anyway, after our boozy lunch (always), we caught the shuttle back.

There was a very attractive lady on the shuttle with us and then we stopped again and picked up Casanova. Himself.

Immediately he started harassing her for her details. Including phone number and room number. 

Amazing. 

So, when we arrived, we hung around a bit to escort her, as necessary, because of this unwanted and somewhat aggressive attention. 

Later, when we were having a sundowner, we saw this young lady again and she thanked us for the help. 

She was with her friends by now. (She made a point of telling us, perhaps she thought we would chase them off too). 

Where are you from they asked us. 

This question is almost as loaded as ‘what is your surname’. I am always confused by both and tend to ramble a bit. 

Luckily my lovely man stepped in and explained that we were local. Zimbabwean. 

Immediately we were regarded with deep suspicion. Which is normal. My lovely man never gets asked by a Zimbabwean if he is Zimbabwean. I braced myself for the inevitable.

She doesn’t sound like a Zimbabwean they stated, as expected, moving away slightly. She sounds like an South African. Also, they continued, it’s her hair. Very Pretoria. The one guy actually waving his hands around his head.

No good deed…

Nice though, he said as an afterthought. 

Yes, I said, I lived in SA for a long time, I guess I picked up an accent. 

Not being able to resist rambling, I further explained that, at one point, I even married into the Afrikaans tribe, but I wasn’t accepted. Voted out. The weakest link stuff.

They all nodded… Knowingly.

My lovely man just sighed and ordered another beer. Don’t start with the surnames please he muttered.  

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Travelling light

Is it just me, or has travel become a pain? 

Because this is Africa, the rules are a moving target that are never quite fully disclosed. Sometimes your vaccination 💉 certificate is required, often not. Sometimes there is an interrogation around how many booster jabs have been had and how long ago. Mostly, nobody cares. 

Also, because this is Africa, there is someone having a beer 🍻 at the airport. 6:30am. We don’t judge. 

One thing that irks me with air travel, is the request to remove your shoes. I always forget this and wear difficult to remove shoes. 

I have also had to surrender my tweezers at the scanner.

I will be boasting a uni brow in a few days.

Another irksome thing is the different baggage allowance based on destination. These, presumably, are based on union negotiations as to how much weight the baggage handler is prepared to lift. But as a result, one must plan around the lowest weight allowed on a staggered trip. 

I can tell you for nothing that Cape Town need to gym it up. 

Why would they not rather give you a total allowance and then a max per bag? To standardise worldwide? 

Who knows? 

I am, of recent, bucking the system and hoping no one weighs my hand luggage.

Because I have to carry my office with me when I travel, and I REALLY like working with multiple screens, I invested in some portable screens. 

They are great, but not light. 

My laptop bag weighs more than my suitcase. 

If a plane I’m on goes down and they can’t figure out why, you can enlighten them. I am, far from light.

I know you have to carry your office with you when you travel darling, but I observe that I am the one actually hauling this bag around, my lovely man mentioned.

Yes darling, make sure you don’t indicate how heavy it actually is, or they may arrest you.

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What do you mean it’s discontinued?

Do you have a favourite product that is now discontinued? Do you also sort of feel insulted that you weren’t consulted considering your years of loyalty?

This past year I settled on a lipstick colour. I’m not sure if it’s an age thing and I am always admiring of people who match their lipstick with their outfits, nails and the like. But me, I finally decided that a particular colour was all that I needed.

Maybelline Stayfast 725 since you insist on knowing.

When I was a teenager and experimenting with make up I once put on some bright red lipstick. ‘You shouldn’t wear red lipstick a friend immediately told me, your mouth is too big, you look like a whore’

So, there you go, what are friends for if not their honesty?

It has, however, taken me this long to settle on a colour.

So, getting some more 725s was on my list of purchases to make in SA. (I am a list girl, there is ALWAYS a list). Ask my lovely man, there is always a list for him too.

Finding some 725s proved more difficult than anticipated. Eventually some sweet girl at Clicks told me that it had been discontinued (devastating), but she would look in the old stock and find what she could for me.

I explained my plight and that THIS was my colour and why I couldn’t wear dark colours. She was amazingly empathetic to my story and reinforced it by saying ‘and an OLD whore now, that wouldn’t be good’

Bless her.

She found me 4 725s. I was so grateful. And then she said…

Do you think these will last you your lifetime?

Honestly, employee of the month.

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Can’t be too careful

In Mozambique, well certainly in Beira, they like to steal parts of your car and sell them back to you.

It’s a very efficient system, you can go to the market, enquire about a recently missing part and buy it back for top dollar.

The solution is to engrave (with some sort of identity number), as much as you can, and pop rivet things here and there.

As with most security, you really just want it to be easier that they steal from someone else.

In a panic, we realised my lovely man’s car was not adequately identified and secured. And, before it could be done, I had to use it to go to the parlour for a wee pedicure.

Unfortunately, at the very pleasant parlour, I have, for some years, been nominated the sadist to attend to my pedicure. Not only is there no sign of rough heels after a session, I am usually limping out on bloody stumps.

As it turns out, she is a very thoughtful sadist. She noticed me peering out the window continually to try and ensure nobody lifted a wing mirror off the car.

She indicated that she was in a better position to watch the car. Then she got everyone else in the salon who wasn’t busy, to watch the car in shifts.

Bless them! I managed to return home with the car intact. Not so much my heels.

My lovely man then had the car attended to. I had to get extra money from the company to pay the guy, he announced, I didn’t have enough. Come and look.

Everything is engraved people. And everything else is pop riveted. I think they only stopped pop riveting because they ran out he advised me.

I suspect the car is 50% heavier and the fuel efficiency halved. But hey, its safe.