Did someone spit in my latte?

I really hope I'm just developing a case of paranoia. I really do.

You be the judge.

The waitress I reprimanded earlier for not providing me with timely service at the hotel bar, today met me at the door with a sunny smile and took my order before I'd had time to properly sit down. I smiled and thought "good for her". This was to be a gooood Saturday. 

After having my necessary bottle of water and copious amounts of rooibos-tea (I'm pretending to be healthy, let's hope the lingering flu is fooled), I felt like having a latte. 

In case you have missed it before (not very likely, but anyhow), lattes in this country rock, really rock, and so does the bonus cake that comes with the latte. This coffee is awesome. I. Can. Not. Stay. Away. 

The waitress took my order, and went away. I was happily looking forward to my latte (which was gonna rock, seriously). And oh how I long for that unblemished frame of mind, as my mental state was soon to take an unfortunate spirally dip (this is not an uncommon occurrence). 

When the waitress arrived with my latte she set it down in front of me, fixed me with a meaningful stare and said: "I hope you enjoy your latte, I made it specially for you."  

Perhaps having read this about a maid using her menstrual blood as a voodoo-y spice in her employers' food (via Stepford Dreams), I was already in pretty someone's-out-to-get-me state of mind. Now... is it just me or is this the worst thing for a waitress to say to a coffee-crazed Finn who is not unwilling to entertain elaborate conspiracy theories? 

Well, maybe it is just me. Yup, pretty sure it's just me. Shouldn't probably have had all that sugary cake at breakfast... hmph... 

Well, it has been at least weeks since my last proper bout of self-inflicted housewife drama. This was long overdue. 

Thanks universe.

Domestic bliss

I cleaned the house! And, surprise surprise, I managed to clean off quite a few stains and such I had assumed were a permanent part of the walls, or the floor, or the sinks, or the oven, since none of the maids had gotten rid of them. Well, at least now the house looks like I would like it to look when we are expecting guests. The hubby managed to sort out and put away the incredible amount of cables and various thingamajiggers he seems to accumulate year after year and is unable to relinquish. The mother load, that has been taking over the study and spreading its tenticles all the way to the guest room bed (and I swear was actually taking root) is now at least behind closet doors. Hurrah!

Moreover, since the magnificent stain-removal accomplishment gave me an immense surge of domesticity I also baked a Mississippi Mud Pie for dessert tonight. I don't cook and very rarely bake, but I must admit the aroma of the chocolate in the house is pretty darn nice, especially compared to the air freshener that supposedly is citrus scented, but in reality smells like not yet ripe banana mixed with toothpaste.

Furthermore, tomorrow morning I'm doing yet another 10km race. This time in the runner's category...

Life is really truly good. 

Adopted at 30

For the past weekend I was in fact the third child of a possibly slightly loopy (otherwise why would they adopt me), but thoroughly lovely South African couple. Since my husband was away (and still isn't back yet), and everyone seems to be in on the 'she seriously cannot or will not cook, or drive for that matter' trait in my sparkling personality, I was taken in by this pair of Jozi-based (potentially out of their minds) Capetonians. 

My being adopted luckily did not involve anything boring or horrific such as chores or Sunday service. Instead, on Friday, I enjoyed a lovely dinner with the family, while watching the boys build me and the hubby a magnificent mansion on Sims, only for it to be destroyed an hour later in a fire, as my character just sat around upstairs reading a book. Even the game knows me too well... Several bottles of the always nice Durbanville Hills Sauvignon Blanc were also consumed, but not until we had suffered through a bottle of Dalla Cia Sauvignon Blanc 2007, that had supposedly gotten four stars in Platter's. I think the wine must have turned, because delightful it was not.  

On Saturday I was asked to make a green salad for the braai I and my adoptive family had, in our Friday night vinoed-out state, invited ourselves to (a South African custom I have been told, since apparently you only get one invitation and the rest is up to you, for all eternity. Good to know). Making the salad was a rather daunting task, but I eventually managed, and no one has been sick yet. So I think I'm home free. I also brought with me a bottle of Durbanville Hills Cabernet Sauvignon, which goes with anything and is a great 'getting sloshed slowly but steadily' beverage. And my coup de grâce I delivered with two bottles of the Chilean Casillero del Diablo Cabernet Sauvignon, one of my favorites from Mexico, which I had managed to find in Makro (a real task, since foreign wines are throughly snubbed here). Everyone seemed to enjoy it. I know I did. Felt a little home sick for Mexico and envious of my better half, who is currently cavorting away in the city of 25 million people, hanging out with my BFF. Triple sigh.

As the discussion undulated from movies and books to racial issues and politics I truly enjoyed myself, and was unable to keep my controversial (in the South African sense that is) views entirely to myself. No one came to blows, or even spat at me (even though my adoptive brothers have recently been grounded for doing just that at each other), so I consider the night a raving success. I'm hoping after our two years in SA I'll have turned a few potential liberals to my brand of ultra-super-duper-and-then-some liberalism. Who knows what will happen. All I know is that I'm done keeping quiet.

On Sunday more kitchen miracles were required of me for yet another braai. This time with family. I managed to come up with a beet casserole, that tasted much better than the greyish mess it looked. Again I was very positively surprised by how included I felt and how cool and fun the day turned out to be. Not that I was expecting not to have fun, but it always amazes me how hospitable South Africans are towards someone they barely know. Judging by the razor wire fencing so abundant here, one would never guess. 

As I had already quaffed my fair share of different wines throughout the weekend I decided to keep it simple and only sampled a bottle of Lanzerac Merlot. As I paced it with plenty of mineral water I greatly enjoyed it, and eventually it made a wonderful companion to the Portuguese espetadas - special rump prepared on a sword-resembling skewers over a braai. Yum! 

As the day neared its end, regardless of my new sisterly status I was not, as opposed to my not as fortunate bros, forced to get a hair cut to ready myself for school starting on Wednesday. Regardless of the financial side of things - the haircuts at this kitchen 'establishment' are free of charge - I'm still opting for my fancy salon, and the relaxing scalp massage. Furthermore, luckily I'm on permanent vacation, and can sport a shaggy look whenever I feel like it (more often than not). On a side note, I sincerely hope the beginning of the new school year signifies the disappearance of the dirty mess on my wall. The neighborhood nuisances (from next door) keep scaling our garden wall and leaving their business cards in the form of several different sized black and brown foot prints. Go to school already.