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.
Wow! That's hectic!
ReplyDeleteOh my word! Very unethical.
ReplyDeleteDont 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!
ReplyDelete