One wedding and two unkissed frogs.

We have thoroughly examined my inability to pack and how when the time comes I always sit like a deer in headlights and just stare at my suitcase, right? Well as things go last Thursday I had to brave the unwanted task yet again and this time multiplied in its magnitude of what the heck should I take and how am I going to fit it all? It was my cousin’s wedding on Saturday and as much as I was all excited for a road trip (and yes, Grabouw makes it a road trip in my books!), a gathering with some a lot of my favourite people over wine and food, and of course the overall soppiness of a beautiful occasion, I had no clue what to take. Which was partly due to the fact that the groom who was in charge of two things, invitation and accommodation, but didn't get around to either. So I basically didn't know if there was any dress code and since I was scheduled to sleep in a tent I would have to get wedding ready in a bathroom which was called 'a clean ablution block' on the farm’s website.

Luckily I wasn't a slave styling assistant for years for nothing.

So I dug out my pink unicorn headlamp and an old dress, which was chic enough to match any dress code, yet slutty enough to make it appropriate for a sailor’s wedding (not a euphemism, my cousin is actually a captain) and I thought me ready for anything. The next day I even managed to buy some padkos though I realize I need to re-evaluate the concept of padkos as surely it doesn't count if you eat it all before you even hit the N2 or does it?

The drive went as smoothly as a drive can be with me and two cousins and no vodka:

Cousin 1: Did you bring vodka?
Me: No sorry.
Cousin 1: But what’s in the bottle then?
Me: That’s my yoga water bottle. Filled with water.
Cousin 1: Pity, it looked like a Grey Goose bottle.

Obviously there was much sex talk as we were driving to a wedding and thus deemed it the perfect topic of conversation.

Cousin 2: Let’s talk about sex.

And much screeching singing and me almost driving into the orchards while Night Fever was playing.

Me: Night fever, night feeveeeer!
Cousin 1: Whoo – why is there an apple tree in the middle of the road?

Somehow we managed to arrive all three of us and my little car intact.
Then there was…

A lake.

Fairy lights. Yay!

A slip ‘n slide with more adults fully dressed on it than I cared to count.

Tequila shots more than I cared to count.

Two swims around the entire lake and the realization that you do need your abs to swim…who would have guessed?

A DJ and a squazilionair, applying to become members of my family by the end of the weekend.

Countless pairs of shoes, cast aside after we opened the dance floor, patiently waiting for their owners to find them the next day.

A bit of magic all around.

Two frogs. Unkissed. At least one of them, as far as I know. Both may have been kissed. If you kissed one too, comment now or be forever silent.

The bestest chocolate cake ever. Seeing that it was delivered in person - do you read this, Callie?? – gives me hope that he may yet cave and make one little cheesecake for my birthday…

Oh yes, last but not least there was also a beautiful bride and a handsome groom and they both said yes!

Here are some little snapshots. I will not even try to explain the hats and wigs...

One should mention that there was however neither a full length mirror nor a power plug in our tent as some people…ehm, cousin 1?!...thought there would be. With that in mind I think I deserve a medal for my glamping skills.

Crazy beautiful.

Admittedly this post is a bit random. It’s a funny Thursday so just bear with me and go with it, okay?

My friend sent me a poem about a Martini and I thought it a good opportunity to tell you why Martinis are like boobs and why I don’t drink them anymore. Then I saw the new Saint Laurent collection and now life will never be the same again.
Fashion rarely makes my heart beat faster anymore, but this - I mean can we talk about these dresses? Or maybe not, we could just sit here and stare at them. Yup, that’s what I will be doing for the rest of the day.

I call it The secret meeting of the Witches of Eastwick and Cardinal Richelieu at the Jardin Majorelle. From now on I will be just like all the other girls, dreaming of my wedding day, picturing all the details. I shall be wearing the crème dress with cape and my groom will be the master himself. After all who cares if you have a gay husband if you can wear things so beautiful every day of your happily ever after?

Dress rehearsal.

… and then there was the dress. Finally. Sorry it took me so long, but after all I do have a birthday party to plan.
If you are a guy, you may want to give this story a miss and go back to the one with the Tortilla and if you are a girl…well, I am sure you know the feeling. The feeling you get deep down when you find a perfect dress. The feeling when it seems like the stars align and you get a glimpse of what heaven is all about. For you anyhow.

This happened to me on Sunday. I was killing some time because I was getting my shipment from Italy aka my friend Alessia from Rome, meeting me for lunch and bringing me pasta and Bacio. The real parmesan cheese managed to get intercepted by customs yet another time, but the thought makes me too sad to explain any further… So there I was buying Ike his 5 year old ‘big boy’ birthday shirt from Country Road and then had a quick look around myself. There it was on the shelf and just a little while later on me:

Though I called it my early birthday present to myself to validate the expense, I immediately had to wear it out to the meat party. Excitedly I told Ian about it on the phone before he fetched me. In hindsight I know it was a rookie error to expect any praise from a boy for something that is not barely covering my bum cheeks, my breasts, or is made out of sheerness and lace.

Ian: Wow – you got a new nightgown.

Indignantly I complained to Julia on the phone, the person who I know would understand me and more importantly the dress. Arriving and meeting at Tjing Tjing the dress was inspected by her and she just started to shake her head at Ian.

Julia: This does not look like a negligee!

Ian: I said nightgown not negligee.

Who would have known that a South African man knows what a negligee is?