So, it was the school reunion, and I got slightly boozed and sang rather loudly. Louder than every single other person in that hall for lunch. Apparently. Except for one other – my mate of twenty-one years now who was next to me. Luckily both of us were hidden by the taller girls who caught the glares of the sombre Head Girl & elderly Old Girls.
I realised that my school is dry. Dry dry dry. And still living in their bubble of privilege.
That I once spoke just like that Matric chick who gave a speech with quotes from famous past authors, light-hearted jokes in that tone to indicate it’s a joke-you-laugh-…-now, that she sounded beautiful but she’ll grow out of it and be the quivering wreck or real person we now all speak like.
I realised I didn’t make the greatest deepest impression back in my day there, and I really did start to find my crazy fun self only after I burnt the uniform & suppressed the trauma.
That the grounds really are that beautiful. That the school serves up some half-decent plonk and platters. And if you did go to that school, you really are being handed a First-Class ticket to life, considering all the opportunities and exposure to front-of-the-pack thinking and technology.
What does this mean to those who waste that ticket? Can we even ever manage to waste it?
The weekend was also filled with meeting The Boy’s folks.
Mom-not-yet-in-law thinks I rock the party that rocks their family party. She even asked me around during the time The Boy is away. Apparently this is unheard of. The gorgeous boy says what it really means is a way to coerce me into her thrill-a-minute, laugh-your-heathened-head-off hobby of scrapbook making.
I see dilemma’d times ahead.
And then I said Goodbye to My Boy. (And what a goodbye it was! Perhaps it is that and not Saturday’s 24 hours of wine which would explain my lagging exhaustion!)
He’s left me to hang out with the Inuit. Or something. Basically I just know he is going to be fkcing cold, up north, in some “dry” town, earning mega-sweet bucks. Does cold weather not suppress one’s sex drive?? Yes. Yes indeed, I do believe that it does. …And no wise chirps saying otherwise thank, I need this illusion to get me through the next month. It is such a pretty illusion. As well as that there is some significant financial reasoning like “mega-bucks” for him having left me right now.
But to get this show on track… I hope you put your mini skirt in the wash today and it will be already to don for tomorrow:
A WALK AGAINST ABUSE
Last week a disturbing story came to light with reports that a young woman had been sexually abused at the Noord Street taxi rank:
There is now to be a Walk to Noord Street taxi rank.
When: Tuesday 04 March 2008
Where: Johannesburg Art Gallery (Klein and King George streets, Joubert Park)
And even if you do not join the march, please wear a miniskirt in a show of solidarity. Boys, there is no way you should be excluded. Don the skirt. Even the heels. And tell your boss to not be anti-female empowerment should you get called into the office tomorrow for “a chat about office wear”.