MARILYN ON MARS

We recently caught up with the cutting edge 2015/16 Netflix documentary, “A Year In Space” that follows the lives of identical twins – one spends a year on the ISS, while the other twin spends a year on earth. It has always been on the top of my bucket list to go in a rocket. The closest I’ll ever get was one of the lookalike rockets at the fair ….

I want to walk on the moon, spend some time on the International Space Station, go in a helicopter, bungee jump and most definitely, go to Mars. This has become something of a family joke as I’m always warbling on about how majestic it would be to be, the first old lady on Mars. I’m a very old lady on earth with endless morbidities, so I would have to consider that the G-force would kill me before the rocket even launched.

Then if I survived the launch, how long does a journey to Mars take? So I would be really, really old by the time I got there. I would need an ATV to get around but I haven’t driven a car in years so I would probably just roll off the planet.

Some days I can barely get out of bed or walk or do almost anything because I took on the joy of living with Chronic Poly Rheumatoid Arthritis. My hands resemble Jack Frost’s so I couldn’t build or make anything like a hut or an outhouse even.

I can crochet but I can’t knit. I cook and bake with the best of them but between my crooked hands and wobbly legs, very bad eyesight and very hard of hearing, I’d probably blow us all to smithereens.

Perhaps I could crochet a tea cosy or a nifty hat or one of those toilet roll covers that were popular fifty years ago. Do you remember them? My darling mother had a crochet mat for the floor, that fitted around the toilet, a toilet seat cover and a toilet roll cover. She had a matching set in about fifty different shades. Now the problem with the seat cover was that you had to tie it on somehow and for a man, this made peeing particularly difficult because you would prop up the seat, get the dangly bit out and if you were standing too close it would fall over (the seat, not the dangly bit, although sometimes I think the guest almost did fall over in agony) – I think this was the cause of many a bruised penis! Our toilet was so old it had a cistern at ceiling height and a chain you pulled to flush. That will give a hint as to how old I am.

I can no longer belly dance, pole dance or tango. I can’t sing to save my life so there would be no almost naked Cher show, entertaining the horny troops. I don’t garden so the parsley would wilt and I very rarely know the day, the time or the date. I couldn’t even write a journal if I was the secretary – ‘Captain’s Log’ – today it was hot, yesterday was hot, tomorrow will be hot, I think. It’s a birthday but WTF, I have no idea who it is. Are we there yet?

Then, reality kicks in and I realize how lucky I am to be alive and grateful for gravity.

THE PROVINCE IS AFLAME

Huge trucks are on fire, tyres in the middle of the road are burning and vehicles are being stoned. There has been a call for everything to be closed, shut down, no businesses open, no travel as supporters of ex president jacob zuma protest his ridiculously short prison sentence and do believe he should receive a full pardon.

Now I ask you with tears in my eyes, how these people can even think about that?

He stole and gave away BILLIONS of rands, (okay, so I know it’s not dollars or pounds, but still).

President Nelson Mandela must be turning in his grave.

I used to think that so many of the country’s problems are, well, like karma – a sort of “sins of the apartheid fathers.”

But this is sheer lunacy. It is incomprehensible that he has such power from his prison cell and so many supporters. The ANC, the governing party, is so fractured and tattered, that not a single soul actually knows who exactly, is running the country.

As we go through our third wave of Covid-19, I bet my life, that not one lunitic rioter and protester will be keeping an acceptable social distance or wearing a mask …..

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Susan was beyond excited. They had phoned and called her in for an interview tomorrow.

Just three short months ago, she was ‘let go.’ The company was downsizing because of this deadly virus that was killing people like flies, all over the world.

Her treasured nest-egg had been remorsefully hacked into, but she had kept up the mortgage, paid all her bills and still managed to eat something every day. Not one single day of unemployment went by without sending her CV off somewhere. She stated she could start immediately, her salary was negotiable and she was a hard worker, always ready to go the extra mile. This was the first and only response she’d received so far.

It felt like she hadn’t slept a wink. She was flinging outfit after outfit all over the bedroom but what she wore could make all the difference. Looking smart and professional in a plain grey suit, a houndstooth patterned blouse that said ‘not all work, perhaps a little play’ with matching high heels and a Louis Vuitton clutch, to bump it up a notch.

Knowing that she would probably have to wait for hours in line with a few hundred other desperate hopefuls, she fixed a smoothie that would boost brain power and energy levels.

Susan took great care with teeth, hair and makeup – a light spray of her best perfume and a quick glance in the mirror and she was good to go.

As she opened her front door, the most fearsome gust of wind almost blew her backwards, but it was just a gust and as she put the key in the lock, she said a little prayer, for good luck. There was the most fortuitous parking spot, a mere few steps from the entrance.

The building was imposing and stately, all steel and sharp angles and tinted glass. Stepping inside, the receptionist looked like a super model. She barely looked up as Susan went over to her. “Good day,” said Susan politely. I have an appointment with Mr. Green, at 10   … well, now.”

The receptionist looked bored. Without looking up, she asked,  “Which Mr. Green? There are three.”

Susan was caught off-guard, her mind went blank.  “George I think, or Greg? No, no, it’s definitely George.” Some help here would be good she thought silently.

Without looking up, Miss Universe receptionist called a number and this time she looked up. She stared at Susan for an inordinately long time, then said, “Mr. Green will meet you.  He‘s on the sixth floor. The elevators are around that corner.” She waved dismissively.

“Thank you,” said Susan, thinking to herself, you didn’t smile once.

The doors opened and a rather gorgeous man was waiting expectantly. She was later, to think to herself, hmmmm gorgeous George had a certain ring to it.

As she stepped through the doors, he stepped towards her, hand extended, “Hello I’m George and you must be Miss Ross. Let’s go into my office.” The handshake was firm and the short walk led directly to the corner office of legends. “Please take a seat Miss Ross.”

Susan sat, convinced he could tell that her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

Spread all over his large and expensive desk, was her whole working life, for all the world to see.

He looked up. “May I call you Susan?”

“Yes. Yes of course.” Susan sounded breathless. She was so nervous.

He looked down. “Call me George. It’s been some time since I’ve seen such a commanding resume. You don’t think you’re too qualified for this position? And what about salary?” He threw out the most ridiculously good numbers, large enough to make her head spin.

                                                                                                            2/…

2.

Susan smiled, but answered in a serious voice, “There is always something new to learn and that’s a perfectly grand salary – thank you. I accept.”

George looked at her for some time and smiled. In fact he looked like he wanted to laugh. “That’s great. You start tomorrow at eight sharp and we’ll have all the paperwork ready for you to sign. I’m looking forward to introducing you to the rest of the staff.” He stood up and gestured towards the door.

Susan jumped up. “Thank you so much Mr. Green.”

“George.” He reminded her. “I’ll walk you out.”

Susan jumped up as he led her to the lifts and pressed the button. He was really smiling now.

As Susan stepped into the lift, all she could manage was a shy wave. As the doors began to close, she could swear it looked like he was about to collapse, from laughing.

She ran her tongue over her teeth in case of lipstick smudge. Were any buttons open that weren’t supposed to be? Now Susan was really concerned. She needed a mirror and she needed it now.

Susan didn’t even glance at the snobby receptionist as she hurried out the building.

I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you just how good I am at my job. You won’t be laughing then Mr. gorgeous George.

As Susan glanced to her left she caught sight of herself in a mirror-like window pane. She had been so nervous about what they would ask her and how she would respond that she hadn’t even looked in the rear view mirror before getting out of her car – something she always did, up until now.

There she was in smart grey suit with the most ridiculous long, curled, grey feather stuck in a curl on the top of her head. She hadn’t felt a thing. She didn’t know when or where it happened.

Susan started to laugh. She got the job, what was the odd feather in an interview anyway?

The End