Last night we wanted to show the Icelanders just how cool Jozi is. My huge personal bug-bear about our city is: there are no bars. And I say that because anything that comes in two’s, three’s or more doesn’t count – e.g. The Baron, O’Hagans or The Snooze Cafe. And hotel bars in international hotel chains with the atmosphere of a morgue, don’t count either. And anywhere where people don’t brush their hair also doesn’t count, so that rules out The Parkhurst Country Club. (Not my nickname for the Jolly, but a great one, methinks. Incidentally, it was coined by a man with the same surname as the Jolly, so thanks, Mr Rogers).
Anyway, I’d heard about The Attic in Parkhurst and decided to take advantage of the rain-free evening to check it out. The Attic’s cocktail bar and its Mojitos (especially its Mojitos) did not disappoint. My heart did go out to the poor Icelanders when it came to the Parkhurst toilet situation, however, so I decided to do a guided tour of the route to the toilets – through the kitchens, next to the dustbins, etc, etc – all the while trying to evoke the charm of simpler times and making up lots of lies about architecture, plumbing, south facing ablutions owing to the African sun, blah, blah, total hogwash. The two girls looked a bit skeptical but mercifully were too polite to start poking holes in my explanation. To make it seem as authentic as possible (and also because by then I was on a pathological role), I continued the history tour inside the actual cubicle, spewing forth about the special post-war ceramic used for the cistern etc, etc. And then (perhaps out of genuine curiosity but most probably to simply shut me up) one of the girls pointed to a business card stuck above bog. It looked like some sort of party planning company or something but the company name, the strap-line and the web address all went by the deliciously classy name of: “There’s a Party in my Pants”. “Contact Raul”.
Seriously, Raul, honey. Not a lekker name for your little business.
The name has been tickling me since last night (perhaps young Raul is smarter than I think and perhaps this is the whole point…). Anyway, because I wanted to share the joke, I’ve spent this morning trying to remember the exact URL and have been googling up a storm trying to find Raul’s party company on-line. I can’t say I’ve succeeded. There’s a Facebook group that goes by the same tasteful name (with a very sad number of members, I might add) and some references which indicate that There’s a Party in my Pants may be a band or the name of a DJ.
In my searches, however, I’ve just come across something absolutely priceless. A company in Wisconsin called (you guessed it): Party in my Pants. The company makes organic, cotton, panty pads. Yes: wash and re-use your pads and save money while you save the earth! And because Party in my Pants can be a bit of a mouthful, the company also goes by the abbreviation 'PIMPs'. How cute is that? The first lines on the home page read: “Has a tampon ever made you look forward to your period? Does your maxi pad make you smile? Nope. Most menstrual products only make the whole affair more uncomfortable. What's up with that? Women deserve better. Women deserve Party In My Pants.”
You heard them, girls. You DESERVE a party in your pants!
If you think I’m making this up, go to http://partypantspads.com/ And if all that isn’t enough to entice you, allow me to introduce the their special festive season range: “Merry Menses”. The hilarious, wet-your-pants copy goes like this: “Happy Holidays from Party In My Pants! If you're in search of unique gifts that your gal pals both want and need – plus are handmade, gentle on the earth AND save $$ – then look no further. Party In My Pants goods have all that going for them and more. Party In My Pants are terrific for teens, new moms and ladies of all ages, even grandmas.”
If you STILL think I’m making this up, check out: http://partypantspads.com/health
Merry Wednesday, everyone!