Service: * * * * *
\n
Food: * * * * 1\/2
\n
Ambience: * * * * *
\n
Babe Count: * * * * *<\/i><\/p>\n
Jacqui and I are lying on a blanket in my garden, covered by a purple sarong. It’s mid afternoon, and the winter sun is warm. It feels like spring is almost here. <\/p>\n
My next door neighbour — Pauline, I think is her name — is sitting on her stoep making a patchwork quilt. She’s also preventing Jacqui from allowing me to try to get up to no good under the sarong.<\/p>\n
“No, Roy!” she says. “That woman can see us!!!”<\/p>\n
“That’s okay,” I say. “It’s her daughter who’s the one keen on me.” Her daughter stayed with her for a while, but moved out when she got a better job. She sends me religiously inappropriate SMSs like, ‘Jesus Loves U2’. I replied to that one, ‘That’s amazing! Bono must be thrilled!’ I didn’t get a reply.<\/p>\n
We’ve just been to gym together for the first time. “You know what?” I say, trying to get my leg between hers. “We should make a ritual of this Sunday gym thing. It really felt great being there with you.” I’m aware that I’m talking in syrup bubbles, but love will do this to a man.<\/p>\n
“Cool!” she says. “That can be one of your three days a week. And maybe it’ll spur me to get to yoga more often too.”<\/p>\n
Sigh. We’re so supportive of each other. It’s just delicious. Almost as delicious as the rosemary and herb ham on three-corn rye with cumin gouda, tomato and avo sandwiches we’re busy digesting. And it’s amazing that Steve’s Spar on Beyer’s Naude Drive sells kosher ham.<\/p>\n
“Show me a yoga position,” I say, shifting into a position where I can maybe see how lovely her contorted body will look. She’s wearing her tracksuit, so I should be able to learn more about the position if I study her carefully enough.<\/p>\n
“Pervert,” she says, and we nestle together like spoons in the decaying winter sun. <\/p>\n