I had an extremely humbling experience in the elusive "Tiger Tiger" in Cape Town a couple weeks ago. Humbling because I learned that I am no better than the 2-for-1 long island ice tea that I drink. However, I was humbled in more ways than one on this particular evening, mainly due to the fact that it ended with me losing a fight (and my dignity) against a disgusting chip schwarma and an unfriendly taxi driver with no sense of humour.
You don't need to know all the details, the main part of the story is that I did eat a crushed slap chip straight off of the sole of my boot. (hopefully from MY schwarma, God help me if it was just off the street, chances are good though) no napkins, no sanitizer, no pride. All I can do is hope that somebody paid me.
That was a strange way to clean the house:
My sweet boyfriend ( bless his soul) is an extremely neaurotic cleaner. I'm talking crazy clean freak, like shower 6 times a day, must use coasters, wear medical booties around the house type of clean freak. It comes out even more so when he is pissed. I found this out the hard way.... After a night of big drinking and small midget tossing, we returned home. Once home, I passed out right away. I mean, went to sleep right away because I was so tired and not drunk at all. I was awakened by the shrieking sounds of a man "singing" at about 4am. Feeling troubled, I ventured downstairs to find the most curious sight: my boyfriend, stark naked, sprawled on his belly on the floor, iPod plugged into his ears,singing along like a lunatic, doing some kind of dance move that appeared to be a hybrid between a pelvic thrust and the worm, cleaning the floor with the tiniest sponge you have ever seen. It was hands-down the most bizarre thing I had ever seen. He didn't even notice me. So I did what any good girlfriend would do,I took a picture of his nakedness, then went straight back to bed.
That was a strange place to defaecate:
My friend Squiggy once told me of a horrific robbery at their home which is on a small holding in Plettenburg bay. However, it is horrific for reasons that may not immediately come to mind. Somebody tried to break into their house by getting in through a bedroom window. The alarm went off (as a good alarm does) and gave the perpetrator such a fright that he actually crapped in his pants. They found this out when they investigated the sight of breached security (the window) and outside on the ground they found a pair of shitty underpants stuffed in some jeans. It was like he just pulled everything straight off in one go and ran for the hills. And he would've got away with the humiliating mock robbery too, had he not left his ID book in the pocket of his jeans. Apparently he was one of their employees.
He was fired for being a dumbass and for shitting on their property.
That was a strange way to wake up:After an intensive night of liver abuse, I once woke up alone (thank God) lying horizontal across my bed, on top of my pillows, completely naked. With not a stitch of duvet covering me. My first thought was "Oh my God, what if somebody had walked in on this disaster that is my naked behind while I was asleep?" Little did I know that that was the least of my problems. My piggy little bloodshot eyes then toured around my room where more nightmares came alive. Next to my bed was not one, but two crinkled up pie packets, complete with crumbs, and a half eaten cupcake . But that was not my problem. My problem was the empty can of DOOM which lay on its side directly next to my bed, and, in turn, my face (my bed was just a mattress on the floor at this stage in my life) surrounded by a sea of dead ants which stretched from the cupcake to the door. It was horrendous. My room looked like a crime scene. I didn't know how I would ever get out. Imagine my shock when later that afternoon I eventually found my car and discovered yet another 2 pies stashed under the car seat. By jove, what a way to wake up.
That was a strange place to leave your shoes:My sister came to Stellenbosch to visit me for a couple of weeks. She couldn't handle the intensity of it and had to leave shortly after, but that's irrelevant. One night we went out, and she'd had a few too many so she decided to go home with her friend and just sleep over at her place. I expected to only see her much later the following day and so carried on with my daily routine. At the petrol station (where I stopped to buy hangover food) I drove over a pair of broken pumps sitting perfectly side by side in the middle of the petrol station. On closer inspection, I realised that these were my sister's shoes! I placed them in a very sterile pie packet and drove home where I was greeted by my very hungover sister who was complaining about how sore her feet were because she had to walk home barefoot. The conversation went something like this: "Um, I found your shoes", "where?", "at Engen", "oh ya, I forgot about that, I got irritated with them because they kept falling off so I just walked out of them and carried on with my life". "Cool". Its nice to live in the moment like that. Especially when you've got to walk 5km the next day in blistering heat with a hangover and no shoes. Smart move.
That was a strange place to throw up:I threw up on a church once. Did not mean any disrespect, nor was I trying to give the church attitude. The church just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shame for the church. And my poor soul which has probably been struck off the list by now. To my defense I only found out it was a church when my solid-as-faith friend made me return to the site the next day to clean it up. Forgive me.
That was a strange place to fall asleep:
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