JEALOUSY MAKES YOU BITCHY

So the Wine Merchant has buggered off to Cape Town for a week for ‘work’. Since when is staying at different wine farms sipping on the Cape’s finest Merlot, termed as ‘work’? That scenario pretty much makes up most of my nightly dreams and aspirations. But while I’m quite content to let him experience the wonders of the Cape, I’m not so charmed at his travelling companions which includes seven girls.

Me: Who are you, Snow White?
Wine Merchant: Baglett, don’t start, I work with them.
Me: Where are all the men? Crises, if I have R10 for every time I asked that question.
WM: Sigh. Baglett, they’re my colleagues. I can’t help that they’re women.
Me: If you follow that up with something like ‘I don’t even notice them’ and ‘They mean nothing to me’, I’ m going to throw up.
WM: For the 40 millionth time Baglett, you have nothing to worry about. Now unlock the doors so I can get out.
Me: Fine, but if they aren’t all dwarfs and whistle while they work, I’m not letting you go.

As we got his bags out the boot, I heard someone shout ‘Yoohooooo!’. Wondering who the hell would use the term ‘Yooohoo’ who wasn’t 80, I looked up to find a blond vision running up to us in Jimmy Choo’s and luggage that cost more than my car. She was neither Happy, Sleepy or Grumpy, she was Hot.

The Wine Merchant, looking distinctly uncomfortable, introduced us, while Hotness ruined whatever chance I had at an emotional goodbye and the two of them walked away. Five seconds later they were joined by six other blondes who looked nothing like dwarfs and I watched while The Wine Merchant led the pack of seven blondes into the airport. It was like a scene out of Catch Me if You Can when Frank Abagnale Jr. leads his harem of hot airhostesses through the airport.

I am nothing if not slightly jealous and massively insecure. My only consolation is that there seems to be severe downpours in the Cape at the moment. I hope their perfect hair goes flat.