Tis the season for fashion folly

It’s that time of the year – frenzied elbowing in a horde of shoppers frantically trying to get through their shopping list of Christmas prezzies. I decided to brave Suhnd-tuhn City on Saturday, dragging an unwilling boyfriend in tow, to put a serious dent in my shopping list (and in my wallet too, I might add).

Doing anything on Saturday morning was quite a feat, thanks to the revelry of the office Christmas party on Friday night (whose smart idea was it to choose stroh-rum based cocktails as welcome drinks? And all the tequilas? Eh?) Unfortunately, the Gilb’s party also took place on Friday night, so I couldn’t wear my smashing white-and-silver ensemble with reindeer antlers in the Poenda, instead I wore it to mine (and of course spilt a fair amount of the red stroh-rum devil’s juice down the front of the dress). Anyway, the point of this digression is that I woke up still drunk on Saturday morning, and decided to put on an outfit that I thought I could wear straight from Suhnd-tuhn City to the Christmas party I had that afternoon. This outfit consisted of: my fabulous new Vans shoes (black with pink hippo’s all over them), black with baby-blue trim Roxy hot hot hot pants (got to show off the Moz tan while it’s still there, after all), and a rainbow-striped top with a large porno hole nestled between my boobs, Fred and Elsa (the Gilb insists I wear a bikini top under this, so I automatically do, these days, so it’s no longer so porno, I promise you). Anyhow, he didn’t say anything until we got to the centre, at which point the shakes had begun to set in and I was feeling extremely sorry for myself, and had begun to notice the stares I was getting. “Did you dress in the dark this morning, Liefie?” he bluntly, yet politely, asked. Oops. At least I had the good sense to leave the reindeer antlers in the car. One Babalas juice (Kauai) and Danish custard tart later, I was feeling marginally better, and the shopping spree could ensue.

I was back to my normal scathing self (quite hypocritical given my hideous outfit) and had time to look around at the delightful creatures walking around Suhnd-tuhn City, which always brings a smile to my face. Exhibit A: the ridiculously long queue outside Haagen-Dasz. I mean, really. Sure, you have to try it if you haven’t before, but will you wait half an hour in a queue for a scoop of R19 ice cream? I’m willing to bet that in three months’ time, when everyone who’s willing to pay that price has done so once for the novelty, the shop will close down because they realize that the novelty wears off quite quickly for South Africans (evidenced by McDonald’s, Ratanga Junction too). Exhibit B: the kugel who was working at the shop where I bought Peas’ Christmas gift. For starters, I could barely understand her kugelly accent. Then, her nails were getting in the way of handling Peas’ gift without damaging it. But the absolute pearler was when she leaned over to pick up something and I saw the tattoo on the small of her back – the Bad Girl clothing range logo, complete with halo. Uuuuurrrrggghhh!

I emerged relatively unscathed from the present-fest (and might I add with some damn fine gifts in my Santa bag), then proceeded to another Christmas party where my weak resolve saw me switch from cranberry iced tea to cranberry iced tea and vodka pretty quickly. Happily, the hangover was nothing like Friday night’s; though I expect there are many lurking around the corner… bottoms up, folks!