We recently threw a birthday party for one of our guy friends at our new little house, and had a bash coming up with de-girly-ing ideas for the traditional Sunday cake and tea… the result? A rocket meets mustache themed party with little labels on everything. Complete with a smore stand and fresh doughnuts and droëwors. Here are the pics!
It’s the 2 month count-down to my birthday. The first big birthday most people would rather not celebrate. The big three oh no, but here I am, at the cusp of the end of my twenties (it sounds better this way). Ironically this somewhat bitter sweet celebration comes with several unexpected joys. This must be the first birthday where I can celebrate the accomplishment of not one, but three goals. We know this is what I’ve been harping on about all year, so here it is…
GOAL no.1: Not weighing what I weigh
I’ve lost 10kgs! It took me well over a year to do. I’ve wedged myself into home stretched T-shirts all this time, so we’re not buying new clothes yet, but the fact remains.
GOAL no.2: Moving into my own place
I’ve finally moved out of my dad’s place and I’m sharing the most adorable little house with two endearing friends and while I try to watch TV, I’m distracted by a gutsy robin stealing glances at me from our gorgeous little garden.
GOAL no.3: Getting Mobile
It’s somewhat embarrassing to admit, but I’ve never been able to pass my driving test. I’ve gone several times, spent literally thousands of rands going for lessons and making new appointments and rewriting the theoretical test and finally, after much prayer, lots of dramatic crying sessions and several freaked out paranoid rages, I passed the test last week. The only thing worse than not having it so far, would have been passing through my milestone birthday without it.
So, Mr Birthday, you aging, condemning, tongue wagging old fart. Bring it! I’ll drive to faraway places shopping for exciting ingredients and throw garden parties with my amazing, loving sisters in my skinny date-night dress to celebrate the anticipation of further victories.
I woke up this morning with a picture of a Black Label Beer bottle in my head, except the black label, read Darling instead. So, the lady version, I thought, could be Carling Darling in a feminine cursive. As we all know, in my head at least, if the name works with the font – it MUST be right! With that thought in mind, I rolled out of bed, imagining how glad the ladies of the world will be to hug a chilled bottle of darling as they make conversation suspended in air on thin impossibly high heels surrounded by twinkly lights.
Barely awake I slouch over to the kitchen in my childish PJ’s and gaudy robe to stare blankly at the space the kettle used to be. My scurrying housemate grabs me by the shoulders and spins me, my gaping expression and daft pointed finger, to face a cutesy note resting in a saucepan indicating its position as stand-in for the kettle today. She trickles out the house with tinkling keys and hurried goodbyes while I imagine myself making a cup of coffee on a camp-fire. I love these little oddities breaking up the mundane details of everyday life. I gain pleasure from pouring the hot water into my mug and seeing it glide into the cup effortlessly while bubbling angrily in the pot like the crowd disappearing down the escalator into that hole in the ground at Seoul station as they transfer to the subway.
My phone buzzes and whirrs and sputters out the electronic jukebox wake-up call and I imagine myself dancing around to it in my room. To my amazement the phone (Imagine it to be lifting itself up with arms on hips) scowls at me only to say, “That really isn’t the point of this, you know. You’re not supposed to ENJOY it.” Imagine that! I am a late-morning morning-person after all.
How to Climb a Mountain in High Heels 