Cape Town had been on the cards for ages. I live to plan, and was giddy with excitement over the logistics involved in flying six people from three cities (one international – oh, the fun!) into one place to celebrate a belated birthday.
Air tickets, accommodation and car hire were all booked. That left five months free to focus on the dreaded diet. I pay scant attention to my personal appearance – and it shows, but running around in a bikini on the Mother City’s beaches was the least of my concerns. Since I sunburn to blisters, I always cover up.
No, the diet was necessary for the trip’s number one activity: Eating, and lots of it. The itinerary was decided around restaurants and wine farms. I was already… “cuddly” and knew that after six days of eating and drinking the Cape’s finest, I’d be popping out of my seams. And how right I was!
Diet maths is so unfair. It takes five months of pre-holiday dieting to lose 4kg and only one day of holiday eating to put them all back. But, the Dom Pedros at every lunch and dinner were the main culprits.
As the days passed, t-shirts got tighter and jeans didn’t close as easily. Sated on the good life – as predicted – I cut a larger figure than before.
Unwilling to acknowledge our wonderful holiday was coming to an end, we decided on a last blowout. Muizenberg became the site of our last supper and we enjoyed a delicious meal in a homely local joint with wine for the men and the inevitable Dom Pedros for the ladies. Eventually we paid our tab and headed back to our apartment.
Waiting for the lift to arrive, my reflection in the glass door opposite the elevator looked even bigger than before. I’m fairly well endowed but I now I looked like Jayne Mansfield.
“Look,” I exclaimed, “I’ve eaten so much even my boobs have grown!”
“What?” asked my partner, distracted. He was talking to the security guard. Just then the lift arrived and my aunt, Mom, and Gran climbed in.
“Look,” I repeated, arching my back to make my point, “I’ve eaten so much now that even my boobs are bigger!”
I turned around to get into the lift, only to see a pair of legs there that didn’t belong to anyone in my family. I looked up into the scarlet face of our unassuming male neighbour from the floor below. He somehow managed to keep a straight face. I’m still embarrassed.