No butts...

So I was sitting in Cubana this weekend, taking great pleasure in my Saturday early-evening view of Hermanus' astonishingly beautiful, glistening ocean and lush, green mountains, when my field of vision was grossly sullied by a man's unwieldly butt cheeks. Why is it that so many men choose the seedy Cubana as destination bachelors?! Said man was wearing a pair of disturbing leather-strapped underwear with buckle, his blushing butt cheeks uncovered and nauseatingly blotchy. Suddenly my chilli poppers lost their appeal, so I ordered another Hunters Dry and turned my focus to booze and rugby. Stormers won so it was a great start to the evening, which consisted of getting as far away from pending bachelor anarchy as possible. Bottle of rose in hand, we headed home to set up Scrabble.

Now, Scrabble for Lovely Boyfriend and myself is not just a game. It's a highly competitive, cutthroat dual. No talking, no laughing, no affection... Pure concentration and an obsessive determination to claim the Scrabble title and win Most Literate, Intelligent and Well-read Significant Other. Unfortunately on this particular night, we finished the rose before we finished the game, and I had to retire to bed since I was slurring half the words I attempted to spell. 

Back to the drawing board for me - my sleeping pill from last night doesn't seem to have quite worn off, which means I'm working at a senile pace this morning... So far I've watered the roses on my desk, eaten a bowl of muesli, written this blog post and planned a promenade walk for after work. Maybe I should get on with it...