I love winter in Cape Town. It’s true that the kitchen door gets jammed a lot and people tend to drive like lobotomised politicians on crack, but at least everyone smells better+. Another great advantage to the wet weather is that it keeps the early-morning laundry club indoors.
Not that I have anything against people hanging laundry++ – it’s the weird pre-7 a.m. dress code that I find vaguely unsettling. It consists of the following:
- Moth-eaten, fluffy slippers (compulsory)
- Saggy, faded tracksuit bottoms (optional)
- Ancient cotton sleep shirt with picture of putridly cute fuzzy kitten on it (compulsory)
- Terrycloth bathrobe (extremely compulsory)
- Curlers (optional, but recommended)
Originally, it was only The Bat who dressed like this, but she’s older than the written word and really doesn’t give a crap what we youngsters (i.e. anyone who has yet to celebrate their eightieth birthday) think. However, it seems to have caught on in a big way with the others in the block.
I think the part that bothers me the most isn’t that most of my neighbours choose to wander around the complex dressed like mental patients. Rather, it’s the fact that when I leave for work and happen to encounter one of these pioneers of the New Grunge movement, my amiable salutations are met with much malevolent glaring and clawlike clutching of the abovementioned robe.
Maybe I missed the body corporate meeting where they passed the resolution about terrycloth imparting invisibility on the wearer.
+ Yes, we’re all concerned about the ozone layer, but there are limits, dammit!
++ After all, it is another contributor to people smelling better