Wednesdays are my late days. And so, when I arrived home I had as much personality as a white wall. We went directly to The BF's place upon arrival - we were hungry, you see and it's her cooking week.
The Pant: Hiiiii pal!
The BF: How are you pally?
We were both exhausted so sat slumped over the dining room table, trying to feed The Daughter, waiting for Carlos to return from Jo'burg so we, too, could eat while complaining about our current states of being.
The Pant: It's ridiculous - look how much weight I've put on.
The BF: Me too. Check my stomach. It actually protudes. The other day I was driving and I had an entire roll that went over the seat belt. (Anyone who knows my BF knows that she makes Kate Moss look like she could do with a little bit of trimming down).
TP: And acne. I look like I've just turned 13.
TBF: Don't talk to me about acne, pal. I feel so gross. I feel like I need to exfoliate my entire body right now.
I think if you were an average person, and you saw us, you would think that we were those kinds of chicks that are like, "I'm so fat, nobody likes me...", but we're not. Well,maybe yesterday we were a little like that.
TP: K. It's time to stop complaining. We need to eat healthy. Stop drinking wine. Exercise everyday. And drink at least 2 litres of water a day.
TBF: But it's so boring. And besides, my drawer at work is full of treats and I'm not going to be able to resist them. So until they're finished, I'm not going to be healthy.
TP: You make a good point. Can we have some wine then?
She tottered off to the kitchen to pour wine, while I continued on the quest to fill The Daughter with nutritious food.
The BF: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu*k!
TP: Pal! The Daughter can hear you. Say 'fork' instead.
TBF: Sorry The Daughter. Foooooooooooork!
TP: What's wrong?
TBF: The bottle opener broke. In the wine.
TP: Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuu*k!
TBF: Pal! The Daughter can hear you. Say 'fork' instead.
TP: Sorry The Daughter. But block you ears because this is an adult emergency. Foooooooooork!
We spent a good twenty minutes trying to get the effing cork out the effing bottle. I was all for smashing the neck against the sink and breaking it off, then dropping two straws in. Why is it, when you can't have something, you want it even more?
TP: Okay, you hold the bottle, and I'll get pliers and try and pull.
TBF: No wait. I need a cloth. Hold on. Wait, it keeps slipping. Let's go and ask the neighbours if they have a corkscrew, to screw in on top of the corkscrew and then try and get it out?
TP: They're muslims, pal. I don't think they'll have a corkscrew.
TBF: Hmmmm.... what are we going to do? Maybe I should phone Carlos and tell him to pick up a screw-top bottle on his way.
TP: I've got it! I live downstairs. I've got a bottle opener.
And so, with much dexterity of the bottle opener, the cork oozed out and The BF and I were able to tuck into the wine. And we did so with such vigour that when we had our little ballet lesson from The Daughter, we were not very good students.
She takes her teaching of ballet quite seriously and calls us by our first names when we're in her lessons. We have to call her Miss Liner, to "show her some respect".
The Daughter: Pant. Stand straight. Your back is slouching. Good girl. BF, point your toes properly. Not like that. Look at me. That's better. Now, point to the side, put your heel down. Point to the side, half way in front.
The BF and I were pretty crap at ballet. It's not our old age that has caused the atrophication of muscles that disallowed us to remain balanced at all times. I blame the effing corkscrew. If it had just not broken, then we only would have had one glass.
Well, that's what I keep telling myself anyway.
In other news: The Smelly Cat has touched down in Jo'burg. My excitement is tangible.