And (bless me Father) I didn’t.
Instead, I just imagined her eyes getting poked in by a huge Alaskan bear.
The kind that Salty saw outside his window, or maybe I’m imagining that too.
My disappointment was so intense that I actually got up, calmly excused myself, walked to the coffee corner and downed two shots without sugar or milk.
I was angry.
Furry Logic is the one thing that calmed my anger.
“Be Yourself, No one is better qualified”
“Life is full of challenges, eventually you’ll find a hairstyle you like”
At the week’s end, I had recovered my ‘cool’ and reminded myself that I get more wrinkles from being pissed off.
Plus, after all, its just work and frankly, I won’t let that mortgage-paying aspect of my life ruin my mascara.
I drove home to our new happy house in the quiet St Andrew suburb to find the Maori neighbours drunk for the fifth night in a row, singing “No Woman No Cry”.
Sometimes, I wish Bob Marley wasn’t born at all.
So that I could sleep peacefully without “ Emancipating yourself from antislavery” ringing in my eardrums in slurred Maori vocals on a frosty winter night, in a supposedly quiet neighbourhood.
Still, I am convinced that I will not let these minor mishaps dampen my day/night, so I started painting flowers on canvas, then a little splash of black as a background, a wave breaking, no, a tsunami looks better, with some sharks and maybe a few Maoris fishing on the reef, eating pipis and mussels and puha and kumara and fish and chips.
Picasso would have been pleased.
Tonight, I decided to make use of the samoan cocoa I got from mom when she came from Samoa two months ago.
It is wrapped in clear plastic and inserted into another white plastic foam cup.
I open these covers and feel the smooth but hard cocoa between my hands.
“How the #%& do I break this?”
I grab a bread knife and saw away, small bits fall off and land on the newly cleaned floor.
I pick up the bigger pieces from the floor and leave them on the sink (Note to self, dispose of these later”.
Frenchy walks in, sees the cocoa bits and tastes one.
“Youre making a mess, you vasti”
“None of your business kio”
“Hah, a Samoan who can’t make cocoa, vasti”
Frenchy gets the message and pisses off to the garage to pretend he’s doing constructive DIY work that he really doesn’t know.
I return to my cocoa chipping, picked out a pot, filled it with water and dropped in the cocoa bits.
Halfway though, I decided to do koko alaisa, rice cocoa, cocoa rice, rice in cocoa whateva.
I pick up the phone and call Delphina.
Shane comes to the phone with instructions,
“Cut off half of the cocoa bits, microwave that in a cup, before you put it into the pot.”
I look at the already boiling pot and realize the advice came 5 minutes too late.
“What comes first Shane, the cocoa or the rice?
“The rice, the coconut cream and then the cocoa.”
“Oh, coconut cream too? Forget it, I don’t have that”
Dilmah tea it will be.