Lunch Date, Wrong Spot !Caution: This story contains bad language. Parental Guidance Advised

I love peri peri prawns; I love the company of women; I love a cold glass of bubbly; I love the sunshine and when the promise of all of those things are on the cards, I dress up and show up.

Oh yes, and if this magical combo of things happens to come together on a work day, well then, I even swop my EDT for EDP.

So, I spritzed the good stuff on my pulse points. It felt so indulgent on a random Tuesday. I had been under enormous pressure at work. My special lunch date had been too.  She had also been recovering from a critical illness and I planned to tell her that I loved the fact that she still used words like “bitch” instead of offering me a passage from the bible during our chats about her health.

The word “bitch” was going to come up lots and lots during our lunch meeting. This I knew for sure. We had been dealing with a mutual service provider who I really thought should have considered a company name change. RIP: Rude, Incompetent, Pricey – Where Customers Come Last is what I had in mind. There would be total value alignment with her staff. I could not wait to share my genius over lunch.

But we had a teeny problem. My lunch date was sitting in a restaurant in one part of the city. Stupid tart!  Poor thing! She had already ordered something to drink. I was sitting in a restaurant by the same name in another part of the city, 30km away from her. I had also ordered a drink.

I had sunshine. I had prawns. I had a glass of bubbly. I was not moving.  So, I Skyped my date.

We had a blast talking about RIP!  I had to agree, I DID have a certain “way with words”.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Blue Monday

I was having a shit morning.

It was Monday.  My husband left for university at 6am in the pouring rain because he was taking an important exam. My daughter spilled her cereal all over her new dress. My son had the world’s worst case of chicken pox and I was due to participate in an important Skype meeting.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

It was a social worker.  She was there to check on our “living conditions” and the “wellbeing of the children”.  It was a routine visit.  I just wish the stupid tart would have warned me!

My hair was a mess, I was wearing a formal shirt and red lipstick (getting ready for my Skype call) with my husband’s pj pants stained with baby food (because that’s all I could find when the damn doorbell rang).

My house looked like something out of a horror movie. I reckon the “living conditions” scored very low.   My kids were both crying, one because she felt embarrassed about her wet clothes and the other because he was itchy and hungry.  I reckon the “wellbeing of the kids” did not score very highly either.

Talk about first impressions huh?

The woman spoke to me in Dutch.  I did not understand.  My daughter laughed loud! She said “Mamaaaa, your boobie is open”.    It was true!  My breast-feeding son had been having his drink and in my rush, I completely forgot to put the boob away again.

The visit ended quickly.  She jumped on her bicycle and left.  I never heard from her (or the department of social services) again. Thank God.

BUT, I spent the rest of the day in turmoil.

What did she think of me? Did I look like a bad mother? Would she cause trouble? Did the children seem okay? Did she think I was crazy? Did she rate my boobs? Would she call the cops? BlahBlahBlahBlah!

Stupid woman on a bloody Monday morning!!

After a few hours of that head storm, I thought to myself “Damn this! Enough! Grab a hold of yourself.  Youuuuuu cannot control what’s done.  It’s done!”

And just like that, I channelled my inner Iyanla and focussed on what I COULD control.

I cleared my diary, took the spotty baby and the sweet girl out for a picnic.  Ahhhh!  Peace at last.

As we sat down, my daughter said “Mama! Mama! There’s your friend”. 

Yes, you guessed it!  Miss-Stuff-Up-Other-People’s-Mondays herself.

That’s when I had my first stroke of genius for the entireeee day.  I said “Let’s play tent-tent Everybody hide!”

And we did.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.