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Hi howzit…I'm thinking Dawson's Creek type analysis and general thinking about a situation to death is going to help me lose this magnetism for attracting these voes females who wish only to give me second nose job…
SENSATIONS OF MY MIND
"'You got a problem?" she screams at my back across the huge parking lot. Oh, here we go again, I think to myself…another leather-clad, base-on-her-face, Opeara-style-big-hair, perfect row of 32 teeth female to deal with. Thank goodness I swallowed those Calmeds this morning. Wild, wild west here I come.
I arrange my expression to one of disgusted disbelief complete with hood-like wary COSATU eyes. I quickly dispose of the Saturday morning shopping - no point in getting Mother's eggs cracked …if you know what I mean. I turn around and face the GUCCI-rebel-with-a-nose-job. The timeless feminine ritual of combating your enemy has now begun. The enemy is any other female (sister, niece, future mother-in-law) who is remotely 'dolled up' and is sporting either a nose ring or a cell phone.
My foe is a peroxided blonde whose big hair puts Winnie Mandela's to shame. She has used enough hairspray to enlargen the hole in the ozone layer but here justification would be, " Yes well, they had a special on 'Revitilising 2 in 1 body and energy filled Vitality Spray'". She is Feleicia Mabuza-Suttle lookalike complete with red talons and the blood red jacket casually slung over here shoulders and so emphasising here small hips. Ha? May she suffer in childbirth! Any moment now I expect her to start singing the 'Felicia song' and start gyrating those surgically reduced hips to the latest tunes from TKZee or the forever-silicone Boom Shaka
(The wonder of the Wonderbra).
Back to lights, camera and chick fight! Imam not exactly dressed for the event - wearing precarious Spice Girls shoes suitable if you want to tower over your opponent… that is if your opponent doesn't have the height of Kate moss. Tottering on heels suitable for a five-year old I try to look dignified and non-perplexed. The wonder of those therapy sessions when one reaches the inner child and finally tells it to grow up!
I make a mental not to
Girlfriend starts to move closes and closer. The she bellows, "You want me to fix your problem girl?" We then complete the obligatory menacing stares. I get ready for a black eye deluxe with extra peri-peri.
We stand eye and I get my first good look into that store bought face. The foundation lies as a thick cake on her face and the chameleon effect is apparent form the two different colours on their face and neck. It is clear that these recent exertions have taken their toll on Ms Mina Moo as the foundation is streaked where the sweat has run down her face.
Of course by this stage a healthy crowd has gathered to watch my I-tripped-at-Miss-Universe type mortifying moment. Stories about the girl who caught 'such a clap' will be circulating in my street until the next I-gave-birth-to-an-alien story comes along. You can always depend on those.
Needless to say a wrestling we did go. I ducked and dived as many punches as I could but in the end one landed right on my nose. Good news - I got the nose job and she fractured the bones in her fingers.
I have some sensations from my mind for those females who exhibit this Mina Moo type syndrome: If you are the spoilt rich kid don't play the delinquent…that is so the 80's. Do something more PC-like - go burn your father's yacht.
