Went to the Big City yesterday. ( East London, South Africa. Not East of London LONDON, England. Sadly. )
Going to The Big City is A Big Deal if you live on a farm in the sticks, 120 km from civilization. Or rather, it is A Big Deal if you’re a deprived shopaholic married to a farmer.
The farmer would prefer never going to The Big City. He would prefer to stay on his farm and farm. This is a lesson I never learn.
But lets ignore him for now. Lets get back to the city girl living 120 km from civilization Going To The Big City.
For her there is the week BEFORE Going To The Big City. ( ” We are going to have such a good time! I’ll finally FINALLY find the one elusive piece of clothing that will shave 20 kgs off my butt! And we’ll find a great place to eat! And the kids will have fun ! And hubby will relax! And…..! )
There is the actual Day In The Big City. ( “Why can I never find anything I like? WHY did I bring a farmer shopping? He couldn’t be more miserable if he tried.”)
And then there’s the trip back from the Day in The Big City. ( ” Oh heavens alive. I look like hell. Time to up the exercise! Get fit! Get toned! Get thin! And time to ban farmers and children under 5 from malls. In fact, there should be bouncers at all entrances of all malls denying farmers and children access. I am never, NEVER taking the whole family to The Big City again. EVER.” )
And a month or so goes by.
And another trip to The Big City starts looming. ( “We are going to have such a good time!……………….”)
( ps. this is NOT my husband. This is how much my husband loves his farm. )