A mild evening, actually, by Pant standards (although it really doesn't take much to get The Pant going). Immediate family. Oysters. Too many prawns for what is humanly acceptable (but very effing rad). Too much liquor. Far too much. And the obligatory listen-to-songs-that-meant-something-during-the-year session.
And this is where the definitive change occurred, for The Pant anyway. The Brother put on a CD. We were reminiscing, you know. Waka waka. That Coca-Cola song.
And then some Parlotones. To honour The BF, my people's wedding. But track one preceded "Even if you're rich, even if you're poor.". And it dawned on me.
Despite there being much to celebrate in 2010 (The Daughter, Tshabalala's first World Cup goal, that dreadful teacher resigning, the hair that dries straight without GHD, that sexy grey lingerie I bought, the fact that I've finally reached adulthood and have started wearing earrings), Kahn Morbee vocalised just what 2010 was (note the tense, halle-effing-luljah). It was a giant mistake (gigantic).
But the rad part? It's behind The Pant. And there are such huge things ahead of her. Because - mind the L'Oreal advertising here - she's worth it. I am. I deserve better. Much better.
I would be on my way to spend a week of escapism with Precious Jo'burg Friend, if the travelling companion wasn't as hung over as I am. It's going to be a healing time.
Wine (too much thereof). Ciggies (because everyone smaaks a twak). Chats (the only way to heal). And the facing of Jo'burg. There are so many memories there that belong to The Larry-And-Pant era and, do you know what?, I want them back.
I hope you all had a safe patsy, my panties. And my Special K, in Canada, I hope the rest of your night rocks. Beware of 8 am, though. Sorry to spoil the surprise, but it's going to suck big style ass.
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