It’s the day after: we’re happy and crashed out. Happy because in the end all went well. Crashed out because it was an a-fubar* party…
Picture this:
You’re having your party at a bar - that takes care of drinks & music, you suppose. The bar owner has a ‘very experienced’ girl who’ll organize the food (meaning shopping & cooking). Plates, pots, etcetera will be available. You’ve organized it, you think, but, you didn’t reckon with nafi’s**.
After almost daily checking you discover the evening before that there’s no stock in the drinks-department of the bar. Feeling a bit suspicious you decide to borrow the wholesale card and organize the drinks yourself.
When you bring the drinks in the wee hours of the party-morning you discover there’s no cooking going on, and nothing has been purchased, except for the shopping list they gave you. Mayonaise, oil, and spices – that makes an interesting dinner… Fortunately you made a back-up plan after the drinks-disaster: speed-order the paletshe and salads in ‘your’ Mochudi-restaurant. The Nna-ladies did an abfab last minute job!
By than you decide to back-up everything anyway. Pelo saved our asses by lending us plates, pots etcetera. Our other heroes are Panga-seswaa-man and the baker, who proudly handed over Bram’s beautiful birthday cake right on time.
* almost fucked up beyond all repair
** no ambition fuckall interest
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