Do you know what I love about being grown up? That little extra bit of maturity that comes with the wrinkles and the effects of gravity on arse and tits.
Take Friday night, for example. We were away - a very grown up thing to do - with our families. And Smell and I hadn't seen each other in a year and so had a whole year's worth of gossip to catch up on and could only do so with a glass of red in hand. The underage children were in bed, and us older ladies were seated around a table.
Dinner and red wine: civilised. Mature. Well, not so much.
At about midnight the wine ran out (we weren't planning a big night so hadn't bought tons of wine but, as it turns out, we'd bought enough wine to make us want more). And so, I thought the wisest thing to do was to ring Directory Enquiry Services to get the number for Mr Delivery so he could bring us some more wine.
Directory Enquiries Person: Hello Sawubona Goeie Naand Directory Enquiries Pietie speaking how may I help?
The Pant: Pietie? That's the name you go by? Can you spell that for me?
Pietie: Can I help you ma'am?
TP: Yes please. Can you deliver one bottle of Kanonkop Kadette to this place where we're staying, on the Natal coast. And a pizza. Ooooo. Yes. A veg pizza with extra chilli and no pineapple.
Pietie: This is Telkom Directory Enquiry Services, not a pizza delivery place.
TP: Now you listen to me Pietie. I thought we had a connection. And we need wine and pizza. Now.
The line went dead.
TP: No worries, girls. It must just be the connection. Damn exotic holiday getaway place.
I tried to ring again.
Directory Enquiry Person (a new one): Hello Sawubona Goeie Naand Directory Enquiries Not-Pietie speaking how may I help?
TP: Hello, may I speak to Pietie please?
DEP: I'm sorry, Ma'am. This is not a line for personal calls. If you wish to speak to Pietie, you must phone him on his private line.
TP: Well, can I have the number please?
DEP: Of where?
TP: Pietie. It's spelt P I E T I E.
DEP: I can't give you that number.
DEP: Because you don't know him.
TP: I know. That's why I'm phoning Directory Enquiry Services.
At this stage my company was looking at me a little strangely, mouthing the words 'wine' and 'shut up' and 'you're making an arse of yourself.' At which point ADT security patrol van drove past. I threw the phone to Smell's Mom, instructed her to get the number for Pietie (no Mr Delivery, he was a thing of the past) and starting wooping!
TP: ADT man! Come back.
Smell's Mom: Hello. Can I please have one vegetarian pizza with extra chilli and no pineapple. And a bottle of your finest red.
TP: ADT man with your beard so lush. Reverse. Pick us! Pick us! We have feelings of love for you.
Smell's Mom: Well you shouldn't advertise that you deliver if you don't. That's false advertising. And I work for lawyers and I will be sending your establishment a lawyer's letter on Monday demanding free stuff because of this apalling service.
ADT man: Are you ladies alright?
(Smell, was not alright. She was quietly dronk vir driet listening to Adelle on a cellphone while muttering the words, "The raw emotion at the Brit Awards" over and over to no one in particular. And then she realised that we were out of wine.)
Smell: Pant, please may I have another glass of wine?
TP: We're out Smell. Go and pump up the flirt with ADT over there and get him to go and buy us some more.
Smell's Mom: Are you lying to me? On top of this atrocious service. Telkom, indeed. No, are you discriminating against us because we're.... white?
Smell: I've got pounds. I'll give you some if you can get us a bottle of wine.
ADT man: I'm sorry, Ma'am. But that is not an emergency. I cannot assist.
Smell: Is this your idea of protecting the public?
ADT man: Huh?
Smell's Mom: This is appalling. I'm phoning consumer watch. Good night.
Then she slammed the phone down. Except she didn't realise it wasn't a land line and slammed the cellphone into the table.
Smell's Mom: Oops. Sorry. Are you still there? (Pause) Oh good, hi. Please may I order a vegetarian pizza with extra chilli and no pineapple and a bottle of your finest red. And could you get Pietie to deliver.
Smell: Just one little bottle of wine ADT man. Who's it going to hurt?
(As she said this, she tripped over her other foot and grazed her ankle on the wall.)
Smell's Mom: Oh! You don't deliver. Well, thanks anyway. Pleasure chatting to you.
ADT man: I think you ladies should lock up and go inside now, it's getting late.
Smell: Okay. Fine. Be a spoil sport.
We got no more wine. Thankfully. Because even if we haven't reached the stage of adulthood and responsiblity, the universe was doing it for us.