it’s rude to say skinny and fat. You are supposed to say a little overweight and a little underweight.’ Why do I preach the kind of political correctness I do not exercise?
‘So, are they like Auntie Lauren and Uncle Mike?’
I cannot laugh, but I tell myself that I’ll save it to tell Siz. Meanwhile, I have to protect my friend’s honour and her weight from my TV-addled, perfect-looking-cartoon-chicks-watching son.
‘You see baby, Jack Sprat and his wife are not real people. They are made up and they did not eat right. You know Auntie Lauren and Uncle Mike eat right because you eat at their house all the time, so you cannot compare them to Jack Sprat and his wife,’ I lecture.
On our way home, I drove to Ivory Park and picked up some braaied meat for the drunks, along with some pap and atchar, to ensure they would not interrupt Hintsa and my video session.
On arriving home Mandla, aka daddy, and his friends Nathi and What’s-his-face were drunk as skunks. How could that be possible in the few hours that we had been away? And they kept drinking.
‘Daddy, mommy was telling Auntie Siz that you would be drunk when we got home. Are you drunk?’ my big-mouthed son asked.
His drunken father responded, ‘Boy, I told you not to pay attention to the senseless words of women. Of course I am not drunk. Real men can handle their alcohol.’ He was rewarded with a withering look from me which seemed to penetrate his drunken mind because he apologised. Mandla knew I hated it when he made sexist statements, particularly in the presence of our son – I wanted to raise a man who respected and cherished women.
In a huff, I took Hintsa into our room and locked the door. Thank God our bedroom has a fridge (for ‘mommy and daddy’ reasons I will not go into right now), an entertainment centre and an en suite bathroom. The drunken men were really annoying, but the plus side was that I got time to bond with this boy via something we both love greatly: watching Shrek and Antz. Hintsa fell asleep during the second movie so I carried him to his room and tucked him in.
Fortunately the guys decided not to sleep on the floor of my living room. It appears Mandla and his pals had yet another of their drunken fights, which normally result in mental kisses and all being forgotten next time they see each other. The good news for me was that there was only one semi-drunk fool I would have to make breakfast for the next morning. The bad news, alas, was that I was regaled with, ‘I don’t want to deal with these miscreants anymore. Let them eff off. They just want to mooch from me. . .’ This, in typical drunken Mandla fashion, would go on until he fell asleep – because, should I nod off first, he would keep on waking me up to ask me what I thought and giving me sloppy, beer-soaked kisses.
When I woke up, I knew why the man said he was easy like a Sunday morning. Sunday is such a laid-back day – if it weren’t for the rugrat who was knocking on his parents’ door asking whether he could go next door to play with Lauren’s kids. There was always more than enough food at Lauren’s house, but I called Lauren anyway to warn her that my ‘little Hoover’ would be there in a mo. The kids were going to swim, and I would warm up the grill later on so Lauren, Mike, Siz, Vuyo and the kids could join us for a braai – after Mandla had completed his errand of taking the bags to Marita.
I played the sweet housewife and brought Mandla breakfast in bed (a ham and mushroom omelette, his regular five slices of bread and a Hansa). You could see the fool was hung over by the way he was squinting at the sun streaming through the windows after I cruelly opened the curtains. He could not help being sweet, though.
‘Thanks for breakfast babes. I really needed the Hansa.’ He paused. ‘By the way, where is the boy?’ I told him he was next door, then he winked that knowing, leering, post-drunken wink and said he would break his food fast after he had his soul food – I knew he meant me and I smiled flirtatiously, ‘It can certainly be arranged, my dear husband, as soon as you run an errand to Marita and play your host role perfectly when the gang comes for a braai.’
You would think that would be a passion killer, but for this man anticipation seems to work up his appetite even more and for that I say ‘yeah!’
Mandla had called Vuyo to come along with him. I asked Mandla what they thought of Marita and he said she seemed enthusiastic and appeared as if she would make an alright maid (‘alright’ being the greatest compliment that comes out of Mandla’s mouth, unless he wants something or he is writing a best man’s speech). He and Vuyo did not tell Mike about Marita as we still wanted to surprise Lauren. Apparently Vuyo was drooling – told Mandla that one cannot have chocolate ice-cream every day and in fact, a man’s life called for a bit of vanilla.
The whole gang arrived in the afternoon. The men were busy with their beers and the grill, the kids were paddling in the pool and, while we sipped our wine and made the salad, I was counting the minutes until Lauren and Siz got into a confrontation. I just hoped that Siz would not mention my bloody maid to Lauren during one of her ‘we are better than you’ moments. Fortunately she was not in a baiting mood and it all went rather pleasantly.
It had been a highly laid-back, if momentous, weekend and a great way to begin a new week. One in which I would no doubt have to deal with the psychotic, lazy, ‘I-don’t-know-who-the-fuck-you-were-sleeping-with-to-get-the-post’ deputy I reported to. This guy was the reason why, even when there was little actual work on the office front, I ended up getting home exhausted. I seem to spend most of my time clearing up his mess. I guess that’s why The Woman always says, ‘The best man for the job is a woman.’
5. Madamhood
Chapter 5
Madamhood
The week after the braai was a strenuous one on the work front and I, for one, happily mouthed, ‘thank God it’s Friday’ at five o’clock, and meant every word. My body craved a nice, long, luxurious, bubble-filled, candlelit soak in the bath. Unfortunately, this was not to be. One of the inflexible family rules, as sacred as family dinner three times a week, is that Friday is family fun night where we go bowling, or to the movies or some such ‘bonding’ activity. I suppose, since I insisted on it in the first place, I have to live up to the whole shebang.
On this particular Friday, Mandla was the one who had prepared our schedule so I waited to hear what The Man had in store. Actually, I knew that he had plotted to dump Hintsa at Siz’s house for a sleepover after the family bonding, while the four of us went partying till the break o’ dawn. I knew this because Siz had called me straight after he called her and told me so. ‘But you aren’t supposed to know, so act surprised.’ I could do that.
When I got home, Mandla told me he had bought three tickets for the six-thirty show of Shrek 2. ‘Babes, do you think we can pack an overnight bag for your son?’ There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘He’s going for a sleepover.’
I responded with mock fury, ‘Why the hell should I pack a bag when you decided on a sleepover for him without consulting his mother?’
‘That’s easy enough,’ he responded, patting my bum. ‘You know how you are always nagging that you and I don’t ever do anything together any more? Well, I arranged it with Siz and Vuyo so we can have an Adult Night Out.’
‘That is so sweet, babes!’ If I do say so myself, I think I pulled off a performance worthy of an Oscar because Mandla leant over and kissed me to ‘seal the deal’.
Wearing my little black dress that showed my assets to best advantage, with my smart-looking babydaddy and my son in his BabyGap jeans and sweatshirt compliments of his godmother,
