THE PAIN

What a fun-filled weekend. An early dinner on Friday and a run on Saturday to take me to up lunch. A lunch that I will happily repeat every Saturday if the host would let me. My kind of lunch. Where beautiful couches overlook a maize of gardens, mini putt putt course and pool. Where the food is superb and the company entertaining. Where not everyone knows everyone, so before the wine kicks in, everyone is perched at the end of their chair with a slightly pained expression asking the person next to them what they do for a living, calling them ‘sweetie’ because they’ve forgotten their name already. Three hours in and a couple of bottles down, you’re sitting on their laps and inviting them home to meet your parents.

Drinking in the day is great if you go home in the evening. That’s the work of an intelligent person. A stupid person doesn’t and spends the entire evening saying ‘but it’s Saturday night’ with an expression on their face that is similar to a baby screaming. I managed to convince the Housemate to join me for post-lunch drinks which turned into tequilas which turned into jaggermeisters which turned into me not getting out of bed the whole of Sunday while the Housemate died on the couch. I can hear The Housemate from my room so while I lay in bed and she lay on the couch, I saw her once and spent the day talking to her from my bed.

Housemate: I hate you.
Me: You loved me last night.
HM: I loved everyone last night.

An hour later.

HM: Whatchadoooon?
Me: Nothing. What you doin?
HM: Nothing.

Another hour goes by.

HM: Do you want to get some food?
Me: I sent The Wine Merchant out to get McDonalds. Phone him and place an order.
HM: McDonalds doesn’t agree with me.
Me: Me neither.
HM: So why are you eating it?
Me: Because I doubt it will stay down for very long so I may as well give it a whirl.

Five minutes later I hear the Housemate putting in a call to Mr Delivery ordering enough food to feed the complex. I also hear her explaining to the guy on the end of the phone that she is severely hungover so a little speed wouldn’t go unnoticed.

HM: Want a bite?
Me: Will you bring it to me?
HM: No.
Me: Then no.

An hour later

HM: What’s the worst thing that could happen right now?
Me: That you keep talking?
HM: I keep trying to think of something to make me feel better.
Me: I’m wearing my Knysna marathon t shirt to remind me that I’ve suffered worse pain.

Two hours later

HM: Want some wine?
Me: Sure.