What a weekend!

Thursday: my Wop society’s GoldGlitzGlam event – a blinging party, for which I popped three Myprodols to teeter in some high heels like everyone else, and not shuffle around in (sensible) flat, open shoes for my baby toe to recover. Here’s all the female committee members’ right feet – obviously, mine is the one cladded in those fabulous gold shoes with the fake jewels on them (which actually belong to my mother).

Much schmoozing and boozing later, and we traipsed off to snooty FTV Café next door, where hot ex-Miss SA Claudia Henkel was jamming. I managed to touch her booty as I walked past, and to keep a straight face while doing it! At the end of the evening my feet were more sore from the shoes themselves than the fact that I’d squeezed a broken toe into them…

Friday: rocking out with Jen, Katharine (a girl who has had the memorable experience of telling Paris Hilton to her face “You’re fucking stupid!”) and the Gilb. Great music, great company, such a pity the fucking waiter stole R100 from the bill and we had no proof of it and had to put more money in!

Saturday: After a painful, early start to the day, things started looking up when I went to my boyfriend’s house for lunch, and everyone else eventually stopped hanging around, and we sat down to watch – finally – the good porno he bought for us a few weeks’ back. Not even 10 minutes into it, his brother returns after his date cancelled his evening arrangements. Out of sheet frustration at the fact we never get time to spend along (and I will concede, perhaps greater frustration at missing the potential dirty sex after the porno), I went home. I decided that drinking a lot of whiskey and scrubbing the bathroom clean simultaneously would help. After passing out on my bed, the door buzzer rings, and I realize it’s time to go to the ball held in honour of my Dad’s birthday. Fuck! I let the Gilb into the flat – and for some reason he doesn’t realize that I’m falling all over the place as boozy as I am at this point – smear on some make-up, take another three Myprodols, and reinsert my feet into those smashing shoes. To enjoy my amusement at this potentially droll event, I also dragged two good doctor friends, Timmy and Marc, along. The ball was held at my Dad’s uber-wealthy friend’s house (yes, 17 bedrooms!) and we all so like a good party quaffing Dom Perignon on the cliffs overlooking the average masses…

Anyway, we arrive at this little shindig, and I decide to start talking shop to some of the very corporate types present. On three occasions, I get asked for my business card, and on three occasions I reply: “Terribly shhhhorry! – hic! – I shheeeem to have run – hic! - out of cards – perhapssshhh I can write my detailsshhh on yourssshh? Hic!” Of course, all three politely agreed, and I got ink all over my fingers as testimony. My mother was really furious with me, and kept poking me in the ribs and hissing “You’re totally pissed, aren’t you?” I emphatically denied this, of course. So, we have dinner, we do a little dancing (forced the Gilb to ask my Mom for a slowdance – it was so sweet!), and then that most dangerous of all territories – the speeches. You’d have to know my Dad to understand how he always manages to say the most excruciatingly embarrassing things, but this little incident will give you good insight. While thanking all his close friends for joining him at his birthday celebration, he decides to thank all my friends too “…. And to those soon-to-be-eminent gentlemen, Doctors Pikor (correct pronunciation of surname) and Hauptshleim (not even close).” Cringe and die. And then “…and to my future son-in-law, (insert my boyfriend’s name here, but with extreme over-Afrikaansification of his surname).” Um, if there was ever a way to curse your daughter’s long-term relationship with her boyfriend, then pronouncing this in public – when marriage is not a discussion that has ever entered our conversation before – is a sure way to doom things. The Gilb took it relatively well though, so big relief all round.

Sunday: Even more painful waking up experience, followed by a good Sunday’s activities, and rounded off with the porno flick last night (and yes, all that naturally follows from watching a decent porno flick with your boyfriend). Peas walked into the lounge at one point after rumbling around in the kitchen, and caught our guilty frozen stares like deers caught in headlights. Do I have a nascent porn problem or something?

Anyhow, to end this terribly long post, I’m going to show you what my broken baby toe looks like, in the hope of garnering far more sympathy. The Gilb’s sympathetic response was “Haha! It looks like Fat Bastard!”