I'm sorry for my absence in the blogosphere. I've been having one of those days. For about a week now.
And it all started on a thick black morning - last Friday, to be exact. I arose before the birds, you see, since I am in the throes of complying with the mighty angry gods of labour. It's exam time. I'm an English teacher. I get to drink less wine, sleep less zeds and be a whole bunch less nice as I plough through an unfairly large amount of "English' drivel.
And so there I was, showered, dressed and seated at my desk - at 3.45 A-EFFING-M. (Yes I am sure some of you have just puked a little in your mouths.). I could hear the faint groans of drunkards returning from Phuza Thursday and my heart yearned to be one of them. But I'm responsible, right? And so instead focussed on the scripts at hand.
And I learned some things too:
1) "The poet was referring to the gushing valva" (supposed to be 'valves')
2). Romeo was in Juliet's womb to bring her food - she'd been asleep for 48 hours, right? Must have had a ravenous uterus.
3). Hitler kept the Jews in "skwatta camps".
4) 'becausing' is an actual word.
5). "You can tell that Grandma Anderson is puzzled because her eyebrows are crouching.". Have you not heard of the infamous small budget film, 'Crouching Eyebrows, Hidden Eyeballs'?
and, my personal favourite:
6). "By the end of the play, Macbeth was rock hard." Ah, to have spent one night in Lady Macbeth's nightgown.
My job is an education all on its own. But, I digress.
On that fateful Friday morning, after marking, I continued as normal. I screamed at The Daughter for her tardiness (she was busy putting a nappie on The Cat) while I was eager to get to work and twak violently with my mates. The maid (aka The Armpit) arrived during the, "Daughter!!!! Hurry the sam hell up!" / "I'm cooooooooming, just come and help me put this thing on Cat" exchange.
She, in an attempt to warm to the payer of her salary, chose to assist in the Getting Of The Pant and The Daughter to The Car. She, like I normally am, was laden - in a state of bag lady - with my boxes of marking and The Daughter's school bags and lunch boxes and errant fruits.
She led the way, naturally - as I was too busy running back to fetch a) sunglasses and b) another jacket.
When I rounded the corner, I saw The Armpit - whiter than a disprin. She was standing in my garage.
The Armpit: Aaaaiiieeee.
The Pant: What's wrong?
TA: Hawu! Jeeeeeezuussss.
TP: What's happening?
And that's when I saw it. The void - large and echoing - in my garage.
Wanda had been kidnapped.
The Armpit started wailing as though the wine had run out.
TA: Medeemmmmmm.... Muphi umoto wakho?
TP: Alright, Armpit. Sit down on this here crate of empty quart bottles, put your head between your kness and breath steadily.
TA: You're going to be late for work.
TP: Yes, very late. About three days late, in fact.
After I'd ushered The Armpit into the house, lain her out on the couch with cucumber patches over her eyes and a sweet cup of tea at hand to calm her nerves, it dawned on me: My faithful Wanda is gone. She's being forced to do disgusting unbecoming things of a lady with criminals. Her dignity has been stripped of her.
The world is, indeed, a much duller place without Wanda.
I felt, at least, that My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh needed to know about the car trafficking of our girl. But I didn't have the guts to tell him over the phone - his pain would have been all too audible and would have, no doubt, unearthed the desperation I surely felt.
And so I texted himL:
The Pant: Wanda. (breath breath) Is gone. Thieved.
My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh: WHAT???? WANDA???? STOLEN???
TP: I'm afraid so darling. The world is a little less bright today.
MFEHWHLTNDTACMIT: Wanda was a faithful old girl who will forever remain in our hearts. But I hope she bursts into flames and incinerates the c**ts who stole her.
And I echo his sentiments.