Let me tell you about my domestic treasure. Her name is Josie and she was hired by Boyfriend before I moved in with him. From the first day that I met Josie, we both knew whose house it was. It was hers. Once we’d sorted out the balance of power, we got on like a… um, flat on fire.
Josie works in a few other flats in our complex, so when she sees I’m home she stops by for a visit. Sometimes she catches me attempting some ironing of my own and she chuckles and shakes her finger at me. She whips through our flat like a cleaning tornado once a week – and even polishes Boyfriend’s rugby boots from time to time. True story.
Josie is possibly the most happy person I know. She laughs at everything (mostly me). Sadly, very recently her younger sister was killed – shot dead in taxi violence as an innocent bystander. Even then, Josie came to work a week later with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, not because she had to but because she said she wanted to get back to work. She is a strong and amazing character.
Occassionally, we have our little communication break downs. Just this week, she popped by to give Boyfriend a farewell card, which read: “…I wish you all the best in your journey to Chicago.”
We have no idea where she got Chicago from, but we love her for the thought.
This morning, Josie arrived while I was getting ready for work. Boyfriend and I had gone through all our stuff on the weekend, resulting in two huge bags of clothing and other random jumble which I offered for her use.
Josie was delighted and proceeded to put on a fashion show for me – donning Boyfriend’s and my clothing in layer upon layer over her clothes. “And then when I’m missing you,” she grinned, “I will wear it all like this… and then I will be thinking of you and your husband!”
Another Josie highlight from this morning (there are usually a few) was when she spotted the cover of the Sunday Times Magazine, advertising the upcoming gay marriage between two Isidingo stars.
She picked up the magazine, waving it above her head: “White wedding?” She proclaimed, before doubling up in laughter, “I don't think so!”
I will miss this woman so much when (WHEN) I leave – and not because I’ll be leaving the South African Madam and Eve culture. I’ll miss her laughter and her jokes as my friend. And if anyone is looking for a reliable, very thorough and very entertaining lady to help maintain their house in the area of Rosebank, let The Koekmeister know.
Forgive me for this gushy post. I’m still feeling emotionally bruised from yesterday.