A SKI Holiday.

As the eldest child in my family, often the responsibility falls on my head to act as mediator with some other member of the family.  It’s annoying as hell, but also safer because if, for instance, I let Dazz do the talking directly to Wok one of them would come off second best, a wedgie and a few noogies later – either way somebody gonna get a hurt real bad*.


The difference comes in though, when the other siblings rally themselves up and gang up on me the minute I step into the house, after a flight back to Durban for the weekend.  I walk in and get ambushed by brothers left, right and centre – all shouting over each other to be heard first.  This one did that, that one said this – and, Did I know that so-and-so was planning such-and-such while the other one is sleeping?


Needless to say, this has been going on for the better part of 20 years – I’m the peace maker.  So I’m used to it, really.  Except – this time the boys want me to speak to the parentals.


I don’t know whats happened over the last few months, but when I left to move to Johannesburg, my mom officially hated Kev, and he officially ignored my mother.  It’s the way it’s always been, they love to hate.  Fact.  It’s what we know, it’s what they’re comfortable with and how they’ve stayed married for so long.  It’s how us kids expect things to be between our parents when we walk into our childhood home – unorganised chaos and passionate loving downright hatred.  But in a nice, familiar way.  It’s a bit of;


Mom:  “Dolly, won’t you put the kettle on?”

Kev: “Nah.”

Mom: “I do EVERYTHING in this relationship! I’ve born your children! I do the household chores! I cook your dinner! I’m sick, sick, sick, sick and tired!

Kev: “Gugu works 5 days a week, exactly what chores do you do, dear?”



And so it goes.  Every time.  Until Kev chuckles and puts the kettle on. 


But this time?  Things have changed.  Its one thing, in this life, to see your parents happy.  It’s a totally different, sickening thing to see them giggly and touchy-touchy with each other.   


And it is completely uncalled for having to watch them hold hands and make eyes at each other, in my honest opinion.  And in the opinion of my siblings.  And so I was attacked, distributed to the parentals on behalf of their offspring, to tell them to stop it at once. 


And what was the reaction? 


“We’re going on a second honey moon!  To France!  Maybe even The Maldives!  It’ll be a SKI** Holiday!”


What the f*ck.


* That was my Russel Pieters impersonation.  Have you watched him?  You should, funniest comedian around.

** SKI Holiday = Spend Kids Inheritance Holiday.  We are not amused.


  1. The Baron says:

    So,,,,,,,, its wayyyyyyyyyyy refreshing to stumble across such a fabulous little randomised chat like yours! Thanks for the laffs!

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