….let there be shopping….

Archive for the tag “Shopping”



Everybody knows I’m not the world’s best waker-upper. It takes a good few Nescafe ultrastrongs to get me to a semi-conscious state in the mornings. And even then I’m inclined to communicate in grunts and uh-uh’s.

I wake up with bad hair and a bad attitude. Usually I manage to improve on both before 9h00.


On my non-working days things can remain shaky in the dress up and make up department.

I slip easily into a pair of sloppy track suit pants and an oversized T-shirt. The hair gets a quick spritz of water and a fast blow with the hair dryer and the face stayes bare. No one who is anyone is going to see me, right?

Enter 4 year old snarky male-in-the-making.

“Mommy, I’m going with Daddy today. ”  ( suits me fine, my boy. You go farm with your father. )

But he is not done.

“Mommy, you don’t look smart today. Did Daddy marry you in the dark? ”

……….where in the world did he get THAT from??????

I shudder to think.

His grandmother up in heaven telling him to tell his mother to get her @#*&*%  in gear?

Mmmmm……………she always WAS super conscious of looks and had a way of checking for weight gain with the flick of an eye…..











Being a farmer’s wife doesn’t come naturally to me.

What comes to me naturally is shopping for GUESS, LANCOME, DIOR, CLARINS and LA PRAIRIE. ( no kitchen stuff )

THIERRY MUGLER, ISSEY MIYAKI and POLO. ( no kitchen stuff )

Also EXCLUSIVE BOOKS, WOOLWORTHS and THE BODY SHOP. ( no kitchen stuff )

In short : sunglasses, jewelry, state-of-the-new-face skin care, figure-transforming clothing, home-enhancing cushions and throws and candles and smelly fragrance sticks. ( no kitchen stuff )

Arty earrings, homeopathic,  eco-friendly tranquilizing aides ( read purest lavender and chamomile ) and expensive holidays for me, the farmer , our children and their nanny. I dream of the day I book 2 rooms and a flight for 5 to the Wild Coast Sun. As if that’s ever going to happen. But still. ( no kitchen stuff)

There is a definite theme coming through here.

Did you pick it up too?


Now you  have to keep up with my train of thought here.

Let’s jump from NO. KITCHEN. STUFF. straight to the local Co-op.

The local Co-op is a farmer’s services hardware – type store in every small town close to a farming community. They stock all a farmer will ever need in his farming career. Feeds, bricks and poles. Paint, soil and injections. Leather boots and string. Toiletpaper and cheap sweets.

The local Co-op is a dusty place smelling of sheep.

It is a FUGLY place, believe me. And it, too, does not come naturally to me.

The fact that it doesn’t matters sweet-blue-haydiddle.

Because it is my job as the farmers’ wife to fetch stuff from the Co-op. Every single time I go to town.

It should be written in a farming couples’ marriage contract: THIS HERE WIFE SHALL VISIT THE LOCAL CO-OP 5 MILLION TIMES DURING HER LIFETIME AS THIS FARMER’S WIFE.

And more:

– She shall accept that the service will be slow.

– She shall accept that she will have to sign 3 different coloured forms for every purchase. Green, yellow and blue.

– She shall accept that she will meet other farmers at the Co-op,  dressed in khaki shirts and shorts of a doubtful colour,  who she will have to make small talk with. Unless she wants to be known as “that snooty wife of so-and-so ” .

– She shall accept that she will want to take a bath afterwards to get rid of the sheepy smell.

Yes, I know I’m a highly privileged person living in the wild outdoors with my rough-rider husband.

I know the Wild Coast Sun Hotel dream is extravagant to the extreme.

I know having a childminding nanny ( at times ) is heaven.

I know all of these things.

But I will remain a non-cooking frustrated shopaholic wishing for a mall.



Click to show "sheep fashion" result 5

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