Pink slippers

Sunday, 6th May, 19.21pm

Last night I did the duly responsible South African thing and supported my rugby team, the Natal Sharks vs my brothers team, the Stormers. For some reason, everyone in our family supports a different team, so as you can imagine there was great competition in my dads household, as the game after was the Blue Bulls vs. the Crusaders.

There are two reasons I support the Sharks:

No.1 reason: Ryan Kankowski plays 8th man. I love that man, I have unformalised plans of stealing him late one night and shoving him into a sack and making him have my babies. Or the other way round, whichever he prefers – I’m totally open to anything that devine male specimen might suggest.

No. 2 reason: The Sharks are the coolest team in SA by far, and the also happen to play for my very own province. My team won despite all odds (according to the boys) and my brother and his mates decided to take me out for drinks to celebrate.

So much for my non-drinking speech last week, I had obviously spoken to soon, as the last two weeks in a row I have metamorphised into a bloody bar fly. There is something about Spice gold mixed with shooters that turns me into a dancing queen with an extra loud voice. I have only one thing to say: I am NEVER drinking again!

I lost the battle of who was going to go to the shop to buy breakfast (we all pitch in and pull tooth picks. Murphy’s law decided I had to select the shortest fucker) so off I go, all clad in my jumper and pink slippers with my little sister, Ashleigh. The plan was for me to stay huddled in the car cradling my poor hung over little head, but when we got there Ash convinced me to go inside with her. I was far too ill to protest and state my case of wearing pink slippers.

Inside the supermarket, we entered into chaos. They had arranged for my one true love, favourite Shark player, Ryan Kankowski to be doing a promotional stint with some skanky model, signing rugby balls, along with my favourite radio DJ, Alan Kahn being the MC.

Of all the freaking days, they pick this one! When I look like shit on toast and feel a hundred times worse. DJ Alan was convincing young boys and girls over the mike to come say hello to their rugby hero, and I promise you, I would have cued up with the best of them, knocking out the little ankle biters to be first in line if I wasn’t in my current state.

Stealing a glimpse at Ryan as I shuffled passed, I noticed that he was looking absolutely F.I.N.E despite running around on a huge field chasing a tiny ball along with 14 other fully grown men just the night before. Alan has a face made for radio, unfortunately.

Ash was at the opposite end of the very large shop and smsed me to find Sweet chilli sauce, which was situated two aisles back, so I swivelled around and started desending back the way I had just come, taking one bold step after another as I came nearer to the direction of Ryan and his fans.  Standing a little taller, sucking in my tummy, flicking my hair, pursing my lips and fluttering my eyelashes with a completely fake grin and that far away gaze in my eye that us girls sometimes do- just in case he happened to look my way.

I didn’t notice that there had been an oil spillage and as I took a step, I felt my remaining foot that was on the ground give way. I tried to over correct myself, but only made it worse and, in slow motion I tell you, felt myself going down. Flat on my face. Legs and arms sprawled everywhere- hair in my mouth- trolley flying into the crowd just two meters ahead. I closed my eyes and wished my head could fit up my own arse.

After many ooh’s and aah’s, whispered sniggers, and one kid shouting to another, ‘hey look, that chick just fell flat on her face, aahahahahahahaa!’ DJ Alan announces over the mic ‘we’ve had an incident in aisle 3, please send a clean up crew immediately’ and then, ‘Shame, are you ok, my dear? Some poor lady fell flat on her bum here, folks.  Ryan, where are you going buddy?’

My beating heart skipped a beat. Oh gawd, please tell me he’s walking out the door. Please don’t let him be coming here.  I’ll just DIE!

I was still lying on the floor, with my head now curled firmly under my arm pit willing myself to be swallowed, hoping that if I laid still enough people would just forget about me and carry on with their early morning shopping and Rugby player signing.

Next thing I feel is a gentle tap on my shoulder. I open my eyes and lift my one overgrown eyebrow just enough so I can peep out from under my arm pit to see the soft brown eyes of my hero crouching over me, ‘sweetie, doesn’t matter how long you think you can lie here, they won’t stop looking, trust me’. It was official, I had to be THE BIGGEST loser in the world. No one had EVER been as humiliated as I was right this very second.

Ryan took my hand (I immediately noticed how my nails needed a desperate filing and polish) and helped me up on to my feet all the way over to his chair, where he sat me down and offered me a sip of his coke. I still had not uttered a word, I was in too much shock. By this time, the Spar manager had rushed up to me, and was being so sweet that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that, yes actually, I was hurt.

My neck was throbbing more than if you’d pounded a fucking hammer into it, but all I had left was dignity. I got up, embarrasingly muttered a thank you to no one in particular, firmly placing my eyes on my feet, addressing no one in particular and shuffled away. In my pink slippers.
I spotted Ash at the cashier till a few meters away and as soon as I made eye contact she started waving her arms ever so subtely and shaking her head ever so slightly, averting her eyes to the next till, clearly not wanting to know me at that point in time. Little cow. I love her too much to have embarrassed her too, so I shuffled right passed her, through the door and out to the safety and solace of my little blue VW car. In my pink slippers.

Fifteen minutes later, back at my dads house, I sat on the couch glaring at all my siblings with their faces blood red and eyes glistening with tears of laughter as Ash recounted my story, holding an ice pack to my now very stiff neck. It was so stiff, in fact, that I could not move it. Every time I used my neck muscles I would have a pinch all the way down to the bottom of my spine. My dads wife Trace generously hands me a little blue pill, which I eagerly try to take with water, carefully making sure to not put my head back which proves to be difficult. Eventually I pour water in my mouth, throw in the pill and swallow down only after half the liquid has poured out over my chin and down the front of my shirt. I start to cry as my brothers and sister howl with laughter.

I’m now sitting on the bed, my lap top stacked high on pillows so I don’t have to look down and have a very fat tongue, seeing double and am pretty sure that I am drooling all over myself. I haven’t been this high in years. But at least my neck isn’t that sore anymore.
Yup, thats me, the girl sitting on the bed with a goofy looking face, crooked neck, cross legged on the bed.

In my pink slippers.