Tuesday, 30 October 2012

So, I have a dealer, but should I take the drugs?

So, I have a dealer, but should I take the drugs?
29 October 2012

So my Grantie, fresh from his adventures in Namibia, has another upcoming do.  And this time, I am happy to report, it includes partners as well.  The cause for the shindig is a dealer conference-come-year-end-function type thingy.  Not exactly sure what the technical name of “the event” is (I keep on getting it wrong), but that there even is an event is enough info for me.  And so me, of the little air travel experience, is going to Durban for the weekend.  How zhoosh is that?  And the zhoosh doesn’t simply stop there, but rather, is multi-faceted.  “A” – I get to fly in an airoplane - for me of the little air travel experience, that's pretty huge. “B” – we’re staying in the Hilton dahling, the Hilton!  “C” – I’m assuming that seeing as Grant will be otherwise occupied on Saturday, during the course of the day, I will have some me-time.  Unless of course there are some elaborate plans to entertain the lady folk while the men are busy conferencing away.  “D” – I will not be cooking for a period of time.  “E” – I will not be cleaning, doing Jumping Castles, making kids sarmies, driving kids around, playing policeman in my kids disputes, do grocery shopping or be involved in any decision making (decision making is exhausting).  “F” – on Saturday night, we will be treated to a black tie event.  All very glamorous, I tell you.

However, to get from “A” right through to “F” involves a lot of planning, and yes, decision making.  I’ve farmed my business out to my neighbour’s children – a first for me.  They are all independent kids and quite wise for their years.  And they all have their own businesses and jobs to earn pocket money.  There is definitely a good work ethic going and my neighbours have clearly done well with their kids.  Yet, I will obviously do all the leg work and planning in advance, leaving them to merely be on hand to let Castles go out and receive them back again.  I have also farmed my kids out for the weekend.  All to different homes and their favourite friends to boot.  And I am extremely grateful to their parents, who are also my friends, for having my kids.  A none too easy task, as Luke starts with exams on Monday, writing Physical Science, no less.  It is indeed a very good friend who takes on another fourteen year old, when she also has to motivate her own fourteen year old and a sixteen year old to study at the same time.  Not mentioning a younger brother too.  The weekend also coincides with a school Fun Day, for which I have helped to arrange a stall, including duty shifts.  Something I feel badly about, as I’m asking parents to offer an hour of their time on Saturday, yet I won’t even be there to lend a hand myself.  If just feels cheeky and ever so off.

My big problem though, is the black tie event.  Because glamorous though it sounds, it obviously involves wearing a stunning outfit.  This is also not really a problem, as I have in my opinion at least, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DRESS IN THE WORLD.  Seriously, it really is gorgeous.  I have the matching shoes.  I have a handbag that goes with it and I even know which jewellery to wear.  The problem, is fitting into the dress.  I can't just buy another dress.  For one, despite my children being convinced otherwise, money does not grow on trees.  Besides which, I love this dress and grab at any opportunity to wear it.  When I told my friend Thea about my problem she said “Just buy another dress”.  To which I replied “But I can’t.  I love this dress”.  And then my wise friend said “You will love another dress.  I never thought I could love another child, until Aidan came along”.  So, she had a point.  But still, I love my dress.  I have been dieting and dieting and I have already lost a few kilo’s that had crept up on me (I just don’t know when they did this creeping mind you). 

But with our event looming, I simply had to bite the bullet, go for broke and try the dress on this morning.  I had been too scared to do so up until this point.  And in fact, I didn’t need to try it on before starting to lose weight, as I just knew it would never fit then.  Well, imagine my pleasant surprise, when I slipped it over my head.  It fit me like a glove and I stood in front of my mirror glowing, making ga-ga eyes at the dress, admiring it yet again.  Until I remembered that I hadn’t zipped the back up yet.  I tried and tried and tried on my own.  I sucked in, I hunched my shoulders, I curled into a ball as small as I could, but to no avail.  So, I called my domestic worker, Monica, to help me.  She is a true miracle worker.  Why, the way she can sort my house out is incredible, and given her skills with domestic duties, I was sure she would zip me up quick-quick.  Well, she took one little tug at the offending zipper and said “yoh, yoh, yoh – it’s too fat now”.  As if my fragile ego could take anymore.  I begged and pleaded with her to try harder as I had to make this work.  But despite coaxing the dress and the zipper alike, they would not budge.  So, alas, as a last resort, I called on Grant as well.  I must say that by now all pretence of dignity had completely vanished.  They were both tugging and pulling.  Monica still clicking her tongue saying “yoh, yoh, yoh” the whole time and Grant doing a fair bit of grunting.

But finally, after a gigantic effort they zipped me up.  Sweet victory at last!  However, I could barely breathe, and my mammary glands were squashed pancake thin – most unattractive.  I would have to pull my stomach in the whole night, refrain from eating and drinking and allow myself to breath very shallow breaths at half hourly intervals only.  Funny enough, Grant prefers me when I’m breathing.  The thought of an unconscious wife at the company do holds little appeal.  I’ve told him he’s being very short sighted.  Because a huge fringe benefit to having me unconscious, is the fact that I would finally stop talking.  I like to fill silences with speech, a bad habit.  On the rare occasion that I get angry and I at least still talk to Grant, he knows that he’s okay and all will be well.  It’s when I get angry and stop talking that he worries, and ironically that’s when he starts filling silences with speech.    

So, I went to the Mall today, in search of a new dress.  Yes, I confess, I went and looked for a new dress.  Because though I’m ever so hopeful that I will still lose that last kilo or two, the possibility does exist that it might not happen and then what?  So, best I have a replacement ready for in case.  But here’s the thing – I really don’t want to cheat on my dress.  Her feelings would be hurt and she’s been so good to me – always making me look my best.  So, just perchance, I find myself walking past Clicks and for just a moment I was overcome with an insanity of sorts.  What if I tried some of those diet products that they advertise all of the time?  Rationally and logically I know that they’re all just hogwash and rubbish, and I don’t buy into the concept at all.  Because surely if you want to lose weight, the solution is quite obvious?  Eat less and more healthy at least, and exercise too.  Hardly difficult to realise that that is the only way.  But the allure of fast weight-loss made me walk down that aisle none the less.  The range of products astounded me.  As did their promises of quick instant success and their price tags as well.  I was uhming and aahing, thinking how one would choose?  So, I asked a shop assistant to guide me.  Said shop assistant said that she would be of no use, as she works in the kitchen department, but that I may consult the rep that was on hand from one of the weight loss companies, who was there promoting her products.

Right, I thought.  Like she’d be unbiased.  Naturally she would promote her brand, the most expensive one on the shelf.  When she asked me what I was looking for, I very simply stated that I had four days in which I needed to lose at least two kilo’s.  She dutifully steered me over to her shelf and showed me her products.  Running down the competition of course.  Hers were the best, most effective, most reliable and trustworthy, without a doubt.  I exclaimed dismay over the price of the mutie.  And then, every so slyly she called me over close with a “come over here”.  I followed her a bit further down the aisle, assuming she was going to try and pawn yet some more of her company’s products off onto me.

But instead, she leaned in real close.  Looked furtively around.  Lowered her head and whispered “I’ve got stuff”, to me.  Now in my opinion the word “stuff” is rather dubious.  And I should know – I use it myself, to cover a myriad of things.  And then upon seeing my blank look she told me that she had some highly illegal, yet highly effective weight-loss products that she could sell to me.  She told me it was illegal, that it contained masses of ephedrine and was classified as an anabolic steroid too.  Then if it was possible, she dropped her voice even lower and said “I’m a dealer”.  I can get you “the stuff”.  She told me exactly what it was called and how she herself had lost 7kg in just 2 days.  How her product was the real deal as there were many rip-offs on the market.  That she got “the stuff” from a factory (oh, as opposed to mixing it in your garage at home I take it), etc.  One of the miracle tabs I could pop was a quick boost weight-loss wonder drug, fondly called F.O.F, which stands for F… Off Fat.  Charming!  And so she went on and on. 

I swear my eyes nearly popped out of my head.  Part of me thought “perhaps she is wearing a wire (I know, I watch too much TV) and she wants to entrap me”.  Deftly whipping out her detectives badge after I bought some of “the stuff” and arresting me.  And a part of me thought “what if I’m the one wearing the wire (I know, I watch far too much TV) and I want to entrap her?”.  She warned me that she could lose her job, but still she went on, giving me the hard sale.  You know me?  The person she doesn’t know from a bar of soap and who could be wearing a wire (I know I…sorry).  Perhaps she was a bit high on some of her own tabs?

She warned me that I would get the shakes from taking the pills, but that the positives would outweigh (pun intended) the negatives.  Then she asked me if I exercised at all.  And am I not currently doing arm exercises to try and firm my flab up?  So I said “yes”.  Little was she to know that my arm exercises entailed me leaning against my coffee table with arms raised on the table, legs stretched out in front of me, dropping my bum, and using my arms to lift my body weight up again (backwards, you see).  And just so by the way, I’ve changed my exercise venue.  I used to do it on the base of my bed, to very little effect.  But I’ve found that since I’ve moved my spot to the coffee table and combine it with watching some TV at the same time, I’ve managed increase my stamina from 30 seconds to at least 45 seconds.  Impressive indeed.

Yet, feeling an urge to be slightly honest, I told her that I didn’t belong to a gym and that I only exercised (ja right) at home.  She told me “oh, that’s okay – I can smuggle you into the gym for a few days this week”.  My mouth literally dropped, yet she didn’t stop.  She really must have been high.  Or perhaps she has just cooked her brains from an ephedrine overdose?  She took a simply huge risk.  In a crowed and busy shop.  Wearing her USN clothes.  Approaching a complete stranger.  Putting her job on the line.  Doing irreparable damage to the legitimate company she is supposedly the front agent for.  A beautiful young girl.  She was slender and slim.  But so what?

If she could approach me so easily, how many others has she also approached?  How many new clients has she gained?  How has her little cottage industry style business expanded?  On the one hand she is quite clever.  Potential clients literally come to her, asking her for help.  And she is their miracle worker.  Telling them what they are desperate to hear.  The tablets are about R500 for a month’s supply and I wonder what her profit margin is?  She told me how to check if her product is real.  How you can go onto the anabolic steroid website.  How you type in the barcode of “the stuff” and how you then have a pop-up window appear on the screen, advising you that the goods are illegal and dangerous.

Did she perhaps influence any desperate young girls eager to fit into their Matric Farewell dresses?  Teenagers, who still need to nurture their bodies, not poison them.  I told her no thank you and that I would rather find another way.  She waved me off with a happy smile.  No concern as she surely had more business waiting just down the aisle, with another weight-loss sucker.

So, I didn’t find a new dress.  I will diet in my healthy manner some more.  And the dress will fit a bit better by the end of the week.  And if it doesn’t, it’s okay.  I will make another plan.

However, on second thought, I am willing to be a whistle blower for both Clicks and USN.  If I give them the name and identity of “my dealer”, instead of a normal monetary reward for my good deed, I will settle for taking payment in weight loss products instead.


  1. Dont do it! Crazy sales woman! There is nothing like the feeling of a new dress (that fits) n makes you look fab (Which you already do)! Go Shopping!