Sorry about the quote. Am feeling very appreciative of all my irreplaceable friends today. Heart you all.
Arrived at the Hussar Grill last night early. "Another rib craving?" says condescending waiter, who holds a remarkable resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite. Oh God. I wanted to melt through a gap in their pooh-coloured tiles. It became obvious right then and there, as I shrivelled with embarrassment beneath his judgmental gaze, that I frequent that Rondebosch haunt far too often. Given, I have been there once a week for the last month and a half. But who cannot agree that they have THE best ribs in Cape Town? Why not treat myself to a little ribilicious night out every so often (with friends of course. It's not like I go alone. That would just be sad).
But then again – what is less attractive than a chick, face smeared with rib sauce, bits of rib stuck under her fingernails, sticky hands, basting in hair (yes, that happened)... A real dude magnet!
"The usual then?" he continues.
"I'm waiting for friends," I quickly respond.
"Friends?" he looks around, as if my only friends in the world can only be the rack of ribs I consume on a weekly basis.
"Yes, I have friends."
"Whatever you say, Missy. Passion fruit and water?"
Sanctimonious shithead.
Crapballs, he evens knows what I drink. This is beginning to mirror my visits to the freezo shop. I don't even need to place an order at Caturra anymore, they start making my freezo before I've even paralelled parked.
Missy? I don't like this guy anymore, or his misshapen goatee, and am glad when my friends file through the entrance and we slot into a cosy table for 5.
Next time I'm getting takeaways...
Vivi&Lola and I are planning a monsterous Saturday night out, starting with a very professional, very formal company Loeries afterparty at The Reserve in town. That's just for the free drinks and food, naturally... Then we shall trail Cape Town with our other tag-alongs for the best d-floor on offer and old, seedy men to buy us Champagne. That's normal, right?
Arrived at the Hussar Grill last night early. "Another rib craving?" says condescending waiter, who holds a remarkable resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite. Oh God. I wanted to melt through a gap in their pooh-coloured tiles. It became obvious right then and there, as I shrivelled with embarrassment beneath his judgmental gaze, that I frequent that Rondebosch haunt far too often. Given, I have been there once a week for the last month and a half. But who cannot agree that they have THE best ribs in Cape Town? Why not treat myself to a little ribilicious night out every so often (with friends of course. It's not like I go alone. That would just be sad).
But then again – what is less attractive than a chick, face smeared with rib sauce, bits of rib stuck under her fingernails, sticky hands, basting in hair (yes, that happened)... A real dude magnet!
"The usual then?" he continues.
"I'm waiting for friends," I quickly respond.
"Friends?" he looks around, as if my only friends in the world can only be the rack of ribs I consume on a weekly basis.
"Yes, I have friends."
"Whatever you say, Missy. Passion fruit and water?"
Sanctimonious shithead.
Crapballs, he evens knows what I drink. This is beginning to mirror my visits to the freezo shop. I don't even need to place an order at Caturra anymore, they start making my freezo before I've even paralelled parked.
Missy? I don't like this guy anymore, or his misshapen goatee, and am glad when my friends file through the entrance and we slot into a cosy table for 5.
Next time I'm getting takeaways...
Vivi&Lola and I are planning a monsterous Saturday night out, starting with a very professional, very formal company Loeries afterparty at The Reserve in town. That's just for the free drinks and food, naturally... Then we shall trail Cape Town with our other tag-alongs for the best d-floor on offer and old, seedy men to buy us Champagne. That's normal, right?
"We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young"
Love it!
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