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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Is it just me, or do you also loathe packaging?
Apart from the obvious that it’s mostly all plastic, it’s largely impenetrable isn’t it? And often seems unnecessary and an overkill.
I’m a bit of a shopper. it’s my one talent really. Random spending. But, inevitably, anything new comes in packaging that you have to wrestle off. Take Take A Lot for instance. Those people, bless them, give extra thought to packaging because, presumably, the goods have to survive transportation. So, there is re-packaging in a lot of cases. Not that this always helps. Possibly because my order is then put on a donkey cart or something similar and driven over less than attractive roads to me.
A face wash I ordered recently arrived burst. (Yes, there is face wash here before you ask, we are not a nation of dirty faces). But, I was tempted in this case because it was a charcoal face wash, and I just can’t resist a charcoal anything really. Charcoal is so versatile don’t you find. Like bicarb and coconut oil. There must be 100 uses for these products. Must Google it. I take great comfort knowing that if I ever suspect I have been poisoned, I can just chug down my face wash and I am likely to survive the ordeal.
Back to the packaging. It’s that hard plastic shell that kills me the most. I really have to gird my loins when stuff arrives in that. I ponder on that movie Tom Hanks starred in where he was washed up on a deserted island and his only companion was the American football Wilson (or was it a rugby ball, is there a difference?). Anyway, what if Wilson had arrived in a hard plastic shell? And also washed up with him was a scissor in a hard plastic shell. The movie would not have done as well I’m sure. We would have all been gnashing our teeth in frustration.
Some years ago I met someone in the packaging industry. It was quite fascinating to hear her speak about it because it’s actually very complex and very competitive. Lots of math goes into packaging. She was absolutely fabulous. Hysterical really, very entertaining and great company.
But, that’s how psychopaths are aren’t they? Engaging and charming. Because really, this must be one of the criteria required to be in the industry, to be a complete sadist.
I’m sure she’s the exception.
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.
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.
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 ‘ .
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.