Travel Blunders & Really Bad Regrowth

I made a SERIOUS travel blunder this Easter. I was convinced we were on the 14:35 Kulula flight to George on Good Friday. I had this in my head because we had originally planned to take that flight but the price had sky-rocketed overnight, so we chose 13:00 1Time flight instead. I just forgot about the latter. And so we arrived at the Kulula desk at 13:05 – 90 minutes before the flight’s departure, like good citizens.

I had a sinking feeling when I heard: “Um, m’am, do you have your booking code because I can’t seem to find your reservation on our system.” I just had a hunch that I had colossally screwed up. A frantic search of my e-mails revealed the truth.

CR*************************P!!!!

One of the busiest travel periods of the year and we were at the airport sans a flight to The Parents-in-Law in George.

Miraculously, there were still seats to be bought on “our” 14:35 Kulula flight – at a very yummy price, of course. I felt nauseous, despite the fact that The Husband was very, very sweet about my monumental screw up.

Then came a potentially positive twist in this nauseating tale. I was scanned the TV screens to figure out whether our flight was boarding yet, when I happened upon an unusual term: “indefinite delay”. It was attached to the 1Time flight we’d actually originally booked and paid for. A quick call to the call centre confirmed that we would almost certainly be granted a refund for “indefinite delays”. (I sent the refund form a few days ago and have yet to see the moola but I’m remaining optimistic).

While we’re on the topic of the airport, there’s a particular bathroom stall door ad that I always see there and it kills me every time. It’s this one:

What really kills me is this: look at the model’s hair. Every single time I see, I can’t help but think: “Honey, with the money you’ll be saving on car insurance, please, for the love of God, go and get your roots done!!!”

I mean, could they not find a model who had been to the hairdresser more recently? Or were they trying to be so authentic that women would relate to the end of month hair roots syndrome so hectically they’d immediately want to save money on car premiums?

On the topic of airports AND travel blunders, we had barely landed in George when it dawned on my that (with a little bit of help from The Husband), I had stuffed up once again. We’d decided to drive to OR Tambo and leave our car there on Good Friday. The only snag was that, in three days time, our flight from George was landing at Lanseria… How long does preggy brain last? I’m sure I never used to be this dumb or scatty…

For now, I’m blaming it all on delerium brought on by lack of sleep. I want my night nurse back. Since Margie left us, I have been wandering around like a zombie, feeling, for the most part, barely alive. I suppose, on the plus side, I could have been feeling like that for ten and a half more months. Now I simply have delayed onset.

Things have very much been looking up, however, over the past four or five days. For ages now, The Princess’ preferred waking time has been around 5am. There were even days when my cell phone read: 04:53 or something similar with a 04 in front. Not pretty. But in the past few days she’s been waking up at 06:00, 06:15, 6:20. What a difference that hour or hour and a bit. At 5am I feel drunk, hungover, half-dead, wanting to cry from fatigue. In short, it feels like night-time. At 6am I feel alive and somehow, just one hour later, it feels like daytime. Dawn, perhaps, but still daytime. Long may it last!

Before I sign off, I wanted to share an amazing deal with all the mommies of babas under two. Since we stopped wrapping The Princess up in a tight, stretchy blanket for the night, she couldn’t keep her blankets on and would wake up cold in the middle of the night. Then The Mother-in-Law gave her a Baby Kaboosh, arms-free sleeping bag. It has been the absolute answer. I wanted to get a second one so I went online to www.babykaboosh.co.za and they’re having a brilliant special for the month of April: buy one spotted or striped “travel bag” (works the same as their sleeping bags) for R300 and get a second one free (worth R300). For Jozi peeps, the 2.5 tog, warmer sleeping bag works from about the beginning of April to around the end of August, else it’s way too hot here. They also have 1 tog sleep sack which is basically the weight of a sheet which I’ve bought to try in summer. Delivery is free door-to-door by courier and only takes around 24 hours, during the week. Here’s a pic from their website to show you what they look like:

”"

Cheers, everyone. The Princess and I are off to Rosebank to shop, eat sushi and drink baby cino’s.

xxx Natalie

A Funny from The Garden Route Mall

The Father Figure is currently in hospital in Oudtshoorn and so The Princess, her nanny and I are staying with the in-laws in George for a week while The Husband is overseas so we can visit him.

 

This morning, The Mother-in-Law, The Princess and I headed over to the Garden Route Mall for a morning's entertainment and some Woolies cappuccinos – as you do in George. I was pushing The Princess through the mall in her stroller, minding my own business, when I came across this sign for a shop:

But it gets better. Contrary to all logic, this is not an adult bookstore. Cum to think of it, (sorry, I could not resist) an adult bookstore would be mighty out of place in the middle of a mall in uber conservative George, sandwiched between Reggies and Clicks or something to that effect.

 

I mentioned this curiously named bookstore to The Mother-in-Law and she said she believed it was a religious book shop. I was about to start my blog by remarking on the crazy things one stumbles across in small towns, when I decided to Google "Cum Books Garden Route Mall". I was a bit concerned that Google would return a list of pornographic sites, but it seems my search was specific enough and eventually I found the book store's home page.

 

Wait for it:

 

www.cum.co.za

 

I am not kidding here. Type it in yourself.

 

Anyway, so much for a far-flung, small town phenomenon, CUM Books/ Boeke is in fact a nationwide chain of 40 bookstores, their by-line being "Christian Family Bookstore". And no, CUM is not actually the acronym "C.U.M." – or if it once was, or is indeed supposed to be now, then this is truly not obvious from their signage or their web-site. In fact they are so very, very comfortable with their name, that the e-mail address advertised on their web-site is:

 

cum@cum.co.za

 

It's as though they want to see how many times they can say "that" word…

 

I mean, cum on!

 

Again – couldn't resist :)

Kiddie Class

Note to self: never catch a flight the day before schools re-open. When I boarded my flight in George after visiting the parents in the Southern Cape, I thought I’d climbed onto a charter flight for the under-aged. A few of the rows were literally full of kids: one, two, three, in a row. Adult supervision was an entire aisle away. Isn’t that a breach of aviation laws or something?

There are two grave dangers when it comes to kiddie-infested flights:

1.      1) screaming
2.      2) seat-kicking
 
On tonight’s flight, I got the latter very severely.
 
Within seconds of buckling up, the kid behind me started going for goal. I got a left footer in the small of my back that would’ve made Lionel Messi proud. (A month ago, I would’ve someone if they’d told me that Messi was a famous Mafia boss – gotta love the World Cup!) Anyway, so I slowly turned around in my seat, looked very pointedly at the parental figure sitting next to Junior Messi, and raised my eyebrows, as if to say “You’re a bad parent”. From what I can gather, this is most parents worst nightmare, so I felt a great sense of power when I dispensed my “bad parent” glare.
 
I was really expecting the woman behind me to have turned puce, before grabbing little Johnny’s spasmodic leg and hissing at him to stop. Tonight, however, the parent in question was one of those “don’t-you-dare-say-A-WORD-about-MY-little-Johnny-because-he’s-completely-perfect-you-COW!”
 
Now, I do love a challenge, so I put on my best fake smile, raised my eyebrows extra high and said between clenched teeth, “Your…child…is…kicking…my…chair”.
 
“No, he’s not!” replied Defensive Parent.
“Er, yes. He is.”
“No, he’s not!”
“He totally is and it’s driving me insane.”
“No, he’s not!”
 
The best fun was, this little Johnny was a wiley one. After 15 minutes of kicking my seat, without stopping, he sat there all doe-eyed with his little feet crossed, acting as though kicking a chair were the FURTHEST thing from his cunning little mind. Grrrrrr. Of course, this gave Defensive Parent the opportunity to turn into Smug Parent and to look back at me and raise HER eyebrows. I was then forced to have a bit of a staring contest with Johnny, trying to will the little brat to kick my chair again – to prove to his mother that he was indeed the pest I was accusing him of being. But Johnny was alot smarter than he looked and he just stared back. At this point, I was forced to concede defeat (something I hate as much as I hated losing at Ludo at the age of 5) and I turned around.
 
Naturally, not 5 seconds later, the football match against the small of my back resumed.
 
I could just FEEL little Johnny and his over-protective mother high-fiving behind my back. To give the kid credit, he must have been some kind of genius multi-tasker because the kicking continued all the way through the high-fives.
 
The rest of the flight was spent trying to block out the sound of blood-curdling screams and “you poked my eyeball, man!”
 
The joys of flying kiddie class.
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