GREASE AT THE CRICKET

Well the cricket was fun. After annoying the crap out of everyone the whole day saying things like ‘I was just WANDERING what time we should get there? 4! Or 6!?’ and ‘I’m BOWLED OVER by the top you’re wearing’, The Housemate, The Single Sidekick and the Wine Merchant and I made it to the Wanderers. I’m not a huge cricket fan, but I am a fan of drinking so I launched myself at the ‘public bar’ to get my plastic cup and my bag of tokens. It was like a drinking arcade game and I was already the winner.

Finding our seats was slightly tricky: looking for Block D, Row 2, no 16 with an armful of plastic cups was as difficult to me as solving world debt and for half an hour I stepped on, over and on top of various spectators until I found my seat. Which incidentally was next to an incredibly bitter single woman who made her duty to take out all her unfulfilled dreams on South African cricket and me. Stepping on her, I joined the Wine Merchant at the ‘public bar’ for my next plastic cup refill. I wasn’t so much thirsty as I was excited to refill my person plastic cup but my childish innocence was soon shattered when I heard;

‘Hey baby’ and a greasy hand caressed my arm.

Me: Sorry buddy, won’t you just move her arm there? Thanks every so much.
Wine Merchant: Leave her alone.

In hindsight I realised The Wine Merchant was only trying to get this guy away from me for my sake, but I took it as an attack on my independence and rights as a woman. (How this was an attack on my rights as a woman, I have no idea)

Me: I’m FINE! I can totally handle this guy and I certainly don’t need you Superman to come swooping in and save the…

At the same time drunk greasy man started lunging at me and my woman’s lib speech was replaced by:

‘Don’t just stand there! Help me dammit!’

I vaguely heard West Side story theme music as ten of his mates appeared at Greasy Monkey’s side all wearing various different shades of wife beaters. Greasy Monkey, now feeling very brave, puffed out his chest so that his back was severely arched and shouted ‘You want a piece of this?!’

Are you f*cking me? Who says that?! It took all my strength not to choke on my plastic cup and I dragged the Wine Merchant who was now ready to take on Danny and the T birds, back to our seat where I found The Single Sidekick building a long straw in an attempt to syphon other people's drinks.

The Single Sidekick: What the hell happened to you guys? I’m dying of dehydration here.
Me: Sorry, some guy came on to me and I gave him….. BAT!

No one laughed but I swear Bitter and Twisted next to me cracked a smile.

In Other News: I’m off to vote now. And then off to an Inky Finger party. Crises it’s exciting.