Dear Anon

My liewe Mooi Meisie

I don’t know who you are, but I love you dearly because it appears that you know me. I think I went to varsity with you, but I could be wrong. I think you may be overseas (Asia?) but I could be way off.

And I know you can’t speak Afrikaans, which doesn’t really help because - despite my heritage - I don’t know many poepals who can speak Afrikaans.

I know that you’re loving taunting me, and I want to swat you for it.

xxx Koekie
ps. please give me more clues, I wanna know who you are.

Moving on.

I really need sleep… starting work at 6am and not going to bed before 11pm takes it out of this quarter-century life. I’m such a granny – evidenced even more by the fact that I had one glass of wine last night. One glass – and mussels in a wine sauce – and I was well ‘sauced’. I was spinning. I couldn’t understand it. Is this any way for a Rhodent to behave?

*hangs head in shame*

Yesterday, Anger asked me to help her look pretty for an interview (another colleague jumping ship). I suggested that she might want someone who actually wears make up on a regular basis, but she insisted on me.

Right… in that case, I suggest we start with green and gold eye glitter. She stopped me dead in my sarcasm by admitting that she had both. She wasn’t joking… out of the depths of her car she whipped out a professional (complete with silver briefcase) make up kit. I can’t remember the last time I saw so much colour in one place.

I thought it was the funniest thing I’ve seen – especially as Anger is about as make-up inclined as I am. Quoting her: “Do you think I need some of that… [motioning to painting on her cheeks]… stuff?”

Blusher. Yes, put one some blusher-stuff, dearheart.

After dressing Anger like a clown, I stopped past my folks place - where Mumsy noticed that my car was dripping from under the engine. As you can probably guess by now, I’m of the “let’s leave it and see how long it lasts before it explodes” variety of mechanic. But mom was insistent that dad take a look under the hood.

I popped the bonnet, stared intently into the engine, kicked the front tyre for good measure and felt qualified to proclaim, “yup, something’s definitely dripping.”

We established that my car was oozing water (doesn’t seem such a problem to me?) but we couldn’t determine where it was from.

Dad asked how my water and oil levels were. I shrugged. Dad asked when I last got them checked. I shrugged.

“You know you should get them checked every time you fill up, right?” Dad asked loudly and slowly as though talking to an idiot. As if.

It’s a good lesson to learn, seven years down the line. We (Dad) checked my radiator (I think?) water levels… to paraphrase my offspringer, “Forgodsake Koekie, it’s all bone dry!”

It would appear I’ve been driving on pretty much nothing but good faith and fairy kisses. Awesome. I found this very amusing. Daddy-dahling did not. In fact, he seemed quite concerned about it. Go figure.