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Stick to the script

Generally, I consider myself quite compliant. I’m not much of a rebel or rule breaker.

Occasionally I go off the rails. With some spectacular results.

An example…

Some years ago I decided that I could leave one country on one passport and enter the next on a different passport. Who knew this is not allowed? Actually everyone… Including me.

My actions in this regard may or may not have had something to do with not wanting to pay visa costs.

Perfectly legal of course.

I got away with this three times and then I was hauled into the back office for interrogation.

The fellow was delighted to lecture me at length. Despite my sincere apologies and explanation. I had to, of course, produce my second passport because he asked me if I had been loitering on the bridge between the two countries for some months. I had not.

He felt it necessary to go through every page of each passport and examine each stamp. It became tiresome.

What do we need to do, I asked, to be able to move on from this and get on with life?

This irked him surprisingly.

Are you travelling alone he asked?

No, I said my husband and dogs are in the car wondering where the hell I am.

You, he informed me, are too British, let me talk to your husband.

Darling, I said, I lied and told that man you are my husband, also he said he’ll sort this matter that I’ve now been caught out on, with you, because I’m too British.

What does that mean even he asked? I think it means get this cheeky bitch out of my face.

My lovely man has never really let me forget this and now considers himself the better negotiator.

Whenever we have a situation to negotiate however, we discuss the plan. This is Africa. One has to be prepared.

We go in, I always think, on the same page, with the plan clearly laid out.

Inevitably, he goes off script half way through and says something gobsmacking.

We scramble through somehow. A fair amount of sweat rolling down my face considering the unexpected overshare of information.

And then he looks at me smugly… Just as well I was with you to help, he reminds me, they probably thought you were too British.

Love him.

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No, I don’t

McDonald’s are launching wedding package specials, did you see?

For less than $250, you can feed 100 guests.

If ever there was a call to action….

This is not it.

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Yes, I’m a bit risk averse

What is your risk appetite?

Let’s talk in terms of electric blankets. An international measure no doubt.

In Beira, even in winter, there is not really a high electric blanket demand. I came from Johannesburg to Beira with a 40 foot container of household contents. Where those electric blankets are is anyone’s guess.

In Harare, an electric blanket in winter is nice. My lovely man LOVES his electric blanket. Sleeps with it on all night. For a good few seasons my side of the electric blanket has not worked. This winter, with the help of trusty Take a Lot (and they do from me for sure), I rectified this.

When I depart the lounge for my shower and bed (trailed by several animals of course), I go to each side of the bed to switch the electric blankets on.

Zimbabwe, as an aside, seems to have sorted out their electricity problems. Can you believe it? We mostly have electricity in Zimbabwe at the moment and Mozambique has long been stable. South Africa could learn a thing or two.

Of course, there is a general election in Zimbabwe next month. So, we all expect to be switched off again after that shit show.

Anyway….. My lovely man’s side is always already on when I go to switch it on. I estimate that it takes about 10 minutes for the electric blanket to heat the bed. I also estimate he turns it on about 4pm.

Not taking any chances that lovely man.

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Just as you are… Not

My lovely man watched me doing my face the other day. Applying face powder actually. As one does.

What’s that for, he enquired.

This stuff, I said, is what makes me beautiful.

At this point, I waited expectantly, with love in my heart. Because, really isn’t it an opportunity for a compliment?

Insert anything, even if not sincere or true. Recognise the gap and act.

What does my lovely man say?

‘You better order some more’

Honestly.

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I’m saving it for a rainy day

I am a compulsive saver of information received.  Electronically at least. If I have a hard copy of it, I’m likely to throw it in the bin.  But!  If you email me something I’m going to bloody file it see.

Terrabytes and terrabytes of Dropbox. 

At one point this was completely out of hand.  I convinced myself that one day someone was going to be looking for something and I would be able to raise my hand and say ‘I have that filed!’  Literally, I could save the world and be adored.

That New24 2011 article or the BancABC 2014 exchange rate would be dug up and the relief would be palpable. 

So far, it’s only my old dad and my lovely man tapping into this extraordinary, somewhat compulsive behaviour of mine.  And I am frazzled and out of time and NOT adored by all as expected,

So, screw you all, I’m deleting shit. 

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It’s over there already

Have you been in your relationship forever, and also lived in the same house forever?

Sadly, my lovely man and I have not. None of the above. And currently we run two households, in two different countries.

This results in us pondering where things are. And often we will say ‘but I had one of those, where is it now……’ Anyone’s guess really.

In recent weeks, this debate turned to a vegetable rack. Fond memories of various vegetable racks owned (and clearly now missing), by both of us ensued.

Bottom line… We are without vegetable rack.

So, I asked at a seemingly well stocked supermarket if they sold vegetable racks.

Affirmative… They sent me to a section of the supermarket. I found a lot of vegetables, no vegetable rack.

Three times this happened. I asked three different assistants and was always sent to the same place. Vegetables (and fruit), no vegetable rack.

I was bemoaning my story of woe to the lady that does our hair.

What is alarming, she said, is that you fell for this three times and went back to the fruit and vegetable section. Three times.

Anyway, I’m looking for a new hair lady.

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That’s gonna sting

Personal grooming is a thing isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be quite liberating to let it all go? Certainly one way to trend on social media. 

All kinds of unwanted hair, and no sign of us evolving to no longer produce it as a species.

It’s quite big business. Other people removing it for you I mean. Bless them, can that be considered a calling? I ponder if this is discussed at school career days. Or does it come up as an option when one does an aptitude test? 

You are a natural for back, sack and crack maintenance. 

But, it’s all quite time consuming isn’t it?  So, sometimes neglected.

Recently I realised something had to be done. Home job time. 

So, on the way into the shower, I grabbed my lovely man’s shaving foam. 

When I was relaying the story, he immediately asked if I had also grabbed his razor. 

Certainly the fight would start depending on whom, and where, a shaving rash developed. 

Except it wasn’t his shaving foam. I liberally sprayed myself yonder, with Brut deodorant.

Not recommended.

An easy mistake considering the cans are next to each other, and a lovely lingering, somewhat manly, odour.

Aptitude fail really.

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I too am geographically challenged

If you live and work in Mozambique or Zimbabwe, you will, undoubtedly, hate your internet service provider.

So, it was with great excitement we heard that good old Elon Musk was offering Starlink satellite connections. Speed unknown to us in these parts at a reasonable price.

I immediately investigated and my research showed that it was best to order directly through the app. I have ordered one in each country. Starlink, it seems, are still trying to find Zimbabwe, so they have taken my $9.99 deposit and will advise further.

We can only imagine that they are having to negotiate through Dubai just who will benefit from any transaction before it’s actually allowed.

But! The app advised me that they can deliver the kit to Mozambique, and I must pay NOW. So, I gave them all my credit card details.

You know, as you do, on any old playstore app.

The very next day a delightful lady from the bank fraud department phoned to verify it was me and that I was sure.

They phone of course, without any warning. (I like a message two days in advance requesting permission that anyone phone me, so that I can mentally prepare). And then they ask you to pass security checks when your brain is just not in the game.

I amazingly convinced her that it was me. She was very pleasant and patient.

And then she says…. do you want us to allow this payment you wish to make to Mexico.

Mexico? I am trying to pay Elon Musk for a satellite kit I explained, is he in Mexico? Has he bought Mexico?

Oh, she says, Mozambique. Not Mexico.

Who knows really.

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Home remedies

I had my tonsils out as a child.

I went to a doctor in my 40’s for something minor and told her this. Oh, she said, you have tonsils. Sometimes they grow back.

What the actual…

In recent weeks, I have had a sore throat. It’s my bloody reborn tonsils I thought. Was there a warranty on that op when I was six I pondered.

Not being bright enough to consult an actual medically trained professional, I turned to Google. Which informed me that gargling with diluted apple cider vinegar kills throat bacteria.

Anyway, I’m delighted to report my throat is no longer sore. Hopefully it dissolved my unwanted tonsils completely.

However, it also seems to have removed the enamel on my teeth. Sigh… Does enamel grow back?

Don’t try this at home.