Sea, sweat and sex with strangers

Well here I am, sitting in a large corporate office in Cape Town, where my usual IT luxuries have been taken away from me: I’ve had to fight for an adaptor that will allow me to connect my laptop to power (because normal three-prong plugs aint good enough and no supplier has stock of the right kind, not even our client), I have zippo connectivity for Internet and email (thanks to the colleague who lent me his iBurst for a few precious minutes), and up until half an hour ago any time I left the building someone had to come down from the 7th floor to let me back in.

Not all’s difficult though – I am wearing my fabulous new bright red peep-toe stilettos, and out the corner of my eye can see the lustful/jealous stares of the strangers as I walk past their honeycomb desk hives. This infinitely improves my mood, of course. And tomorrow I’ll don the new bright green pair (how many green pairs of high heels can a lass have, I wonder? Four and counting, and still nowhere near my fill) bought in aid of that best day of the year, St Paddy’s.

I went for a jog yesterday along the beach in Hout Bay, and that eternal question popped into my head: why do we choose to live in Joburg when the sea, mountain and longer summer days are to be had in Cape Town? (I already know the answer to this rhetorical question, of course).

Anyhow, 2 little anecdotes to relate: firstly, my boyfriend has informed me he’s officially joined a thpinning class. Yes, folks, in the midst of manly, traditional Secunda, the Sasol gym (where the clientele is 90% male) has a thpinning class where big hairy men (and one woman who apparently looks decidedly unattractive in her yellow lycra cycling shorts) gather for a communal session of sweaty peddling. I asked him not to tell me about it every time he goes, I’m mortified. [“Oh, so my boyfriend rode the Duzi this weekend, and is doing the Paris to Dakar next weekend. What’s yours do?”. “Um, you know, thpinning. But he used to play action cricket until they closed the venue last week.”]

[And apologies to all the spinners out there who I’ve just insulted. Well, maybe.]

Secondly, I was driving back from Parys for an emergency work trip on Sunday night, when I stopped (as one does) at the toll gate to pay, and the dude proceeded to beg me to take his friend to the Engen garage that was about 5km down the road. Now, I used to do this more frequently when I was younger with far less concern, but these days I’ve become cynical and paranoid, and the Gilb’s given me express orders not to give any stranger a lift, ever. But, cornered there as I was, I felt I had no choice but to oblige him, and take his friend to the Engen. The guy was chatty enough, but literally 1 minute into the journey he says “I’ve never had sex with a white woman before”. Oh God, I thought, he’s going to follow that up with “…and tonight’s going to be my first time.” Panic attack! I quickly diverted the conversation by asking why he wasn’t wearing shoes on a cold windy evening, we then got into talking business, and I… felt compelled to give him my business card. He did ask, what was I to say? Anyway, much admonishing from the Gilb later, I’m relieved to say that I’ve done my good hitchhiker deed for the next couple of years. It’s sad that we always have to think the worst of people, but I guess that’s the society (and to a large extent, the world) we live in.


(PS: chin up, dear Peasypoo, I wish I could be there to help cheer you up xXx)