This one is going to be one of those classic "write whatever rubbish flows through my brain and ends up on the page via the keyboard" type of posts. I have a sad case of the empties and - after some careful consideration - have come to the rather worrying conclusion that I have very little to offer humankind.
Like a fly.
Let's see, what have I been up to? Well, after the Hot Girlfriend made wunder-schnitzels for Sunday dinner, yesterday was an utter disaster. Workload forced me to fore go my daily blogpost. Boy was I moody when I got home. Luckily, between Man Utd and Rose Thorn (who made, like, some sort of delicious fishbake for din dins) I was soon on the path to righteous recovery and smiling at my own kak jokes all evening.
Luckily today is somewhat more accommodating in allowing me to poison your minds with my rancorous ramblings. "Jeesh, did you see the petrol price" I hear the entire planet cry! Yes, I went down to the local petrol station this morning and dutifully saved myself a whole R19 or something. Or maybe it was more...
The rather surprisingly charming, friendly and willing pump attendant (soon to be referred to as "fluffers") made a balls up ringing up the transaction. Seems she hit the refund button instead of the 'charge this poor innocent citizen' button. Immediately realising her error, she hastily informed me that she had made a minor faux pas and pointed out that she would now have to ring up the transaction legitimately. Fine.
Upon reflection I believe I may be the first person to have been given a 100% discount when all I really wanted was to save the paltry R19 as intended...
Now we wait for the vendor to figure out their mistake and make an urgent phone call - that is if the hard working people at the magical kingdom called "card division" have bothered updating their records, which is highly unlikely.
Don't worry. I'll give it a day or 2 to reflect on my online account and if it is indeed the case I'll go down and make reparations...
How much is 2 cases of beer now again?
Also, can anyone tell me how long the threshold period between "itching like a bastard" and "luxuriant chin mane" takes please. It's almost long enough to comb, but I still get irritated. I can hear the individual little hairs chorusing "Should I stay or should I go!"
In mind-bendingly good news, tonight I once again have the inebriates over for more band practice. Or in this case, I suppose we have to use the more accepted (and certainly more appropriate) term: Re-Hearse-Al. See what I did there?
And seeing as I've already had my fish fix for the week, I think I'll have some authentic BoKaap Bobotie on Friday. Thanks Tequila Tart - can't wait. Slappy's gonna get me...
NGDG: "At one time, in the early 80s, and I presume before this, choice in eyewear was restricted to swooping rimmed Gorbachev eye AIDS. The kind that made you pretend that you were less sharp than you were so the teacher didn't sit you farther back where you couldn't see anything, the kind that drew laughter and permutation of four-eyes gags. The kind that you'd fold up and hand to a friend so the fight that you'd planned at the end of your tether wouldn't cost mum money when it was over. That said, Myopia is not a fashion statement, you fuckwit Hipsters. Ugly is not the new black. It's you being a daft c*nt."
Shakespeare himself could not have put this better.
Spread The Love. Stock Up On Body Chocolate This Easter.