You see, usually on Sunday nights, I watch Carte Blanche from my bed. And at 8 o'clock sharp, I switch the TV off. No M-net movie for me, kids. Aunty Pant-Pant needs her sleep. Considering one of the prerequisites for my job is "Survive. The Day". This is impossible without a solid 8 hours.
But last night was different. I watched Carte Blanche. In the lounge! And then I watched the M-net movie. Which was weak. Despite its featuring Hugh Grant (who does appear on my list of sex-pot kadrillionaires I plan to not meet, fall in love with and marry within the next two years.)
But the most glorious thing happened last night. And I only know about it because I'm on leave. Had today been a working day (yes, like you are doing), I would not have been sitting on my balcony, being calm and reflective, looking at the view of the City I Heart at 10 pm. Nope. I would have been in a deep state of bondage with my eyelids.
And so I would have not seen the sky erupt into a splendour of colour and light over The Moses Mabhida stadium. That fireworks display was truly breathtaking. A full 10 minutes of it. Man alive, I love this place.
Also, if I was working today, I wouldn't be heading off to my homestead.
These are my tasks for Being On Leave Monday:
1. Buy cat food (done. Two for the price of one too. Radness.)
2. Go visit Mom. (Mom happens to be at my hairdresser and she's dangerously close to finishing her twaks so I need to stop in and drop some off. I think I'll take a round of cokes too. And make the boys laugh. Ah, emotional prostitution.)
3. Go see My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Absolutely No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh. He's giving me a technological tutorial on how to be a wizard with Twitter and making fan pages for Pantaholic. Oh. And we'll air smooch. And that will be the raddest.
I think that's all I need to do. Yup.
Leave is glorious. Really it is.
And one more thing, completely germaine. I woke up with The Killers' version of 'Romeo & Juliet' playing in my head. I love that song. So much so that when I was buying the cat food I turned on the pizza-faced helper boy and sang, "You and me, babe, how about it?"
He blushed so hard I thought the blood might seep through his skin.
Sorry Pizza-Face. Didn't mean to excite you.