Do you know what I hate about being on leave? Nothing. Absolutely sweet eff all.
I made a decision last night to do nothing today. And while I haven't been entirely successful at Rocking Nothingness, I made a jolly good attempt at it.
The Rules For Rocking Nothingness are:
1. Brush teeth only if you come into contact with other people ('other people' defined as people over the age of 18 excluding The Armpit aka Domestic).
2. Bond with eyelids & new Kathy Lette book. (Yes, I'm in possession of true joy. Life is so good, it's The Goodest).
3. Do not get out of pyjamas. If needs be, get Mr Delivery to bring around fresh milk, and send child to gate with money. Wait - that makes me sound like I care what the acne faced Mr Delivery boy thinks of me. I go to the gate myself. Give him a little thrill. It's possibly the closest he'll ever get to the bedroom of a woman of my calibre.
4. Hide from children. The Armpit assists greatly here. Worry not about their dental hygiene or whether they've been fed. Just hide. Lock doors, if necessary.
And so I was doing quite well with Rocking Nothingness. I was wedged between the Wendy House and the boundary wall - a space that would scarcely fit an anorexic with the death rattle. I had Kathy Lette, tea (self-made, the best way), ciggies and the quietness that a mother rarely experiences.
And then my phone rang. Regina is my ringtone, so I don't mind the intrusion, initially. It was PJF.
The Pant: Hi.
PJF: Why are you whispering?
TP: Hiding from the kids.
PJF: Oh. Shit. My friend is dropping off two more. Is that okay?
TP: Ja. Um. Um...
PJF: Don't worry. I'll be home soon. Got to run. Bye.
She's clever, is PJF. Cuts the call before I can protest.
And it's not the fact that I would be sharing a house with FIVE children to which I intended to protest. It was her early return from work. And it's not that I don't want to hang out with her. That is, after all, the only reason I'm in Jo'burg It's the fact that I'd have to break rules 1 and 3.
So, I'm ready. Dressed. Teeth brushed. With make-up on.
And this, really, is the point of my blog: make-up.
Although The Pant is Down With Love, she has realised that her love for Benefit is true. It's life-long. It's deep. It's all the kinds of love I intend to one day share with a handsome, educated, tanned, foxy, sensitive, god-in-the-bedroom billionaire.
PJF phoned from the gate, "I'm here. Please send The Armpit out to help with groceries.". At this stage I was as fresh-faced as Roquefort cheese.
But by the time she saw me, I looked like me, only much better. That Benetint is a wonder product. Truly it is. Go and buy it immediately.
And that Some Kind-A Gorgeous. Sheesh Kebab! The ease and speed that results in this Amazingness has left me at a loss for words.
Go directly to shop. Buy two. Send one to me. Mine's almost finished.