Matric Dance Dress.

Exciting times for the youngest Miss Suzy Q, as the pinnacle of her school career looms larger than life. Yessirree, her matric dance is a mere two months away, and we have not seen anything in the stores which looks even halfway decent for her to wear on her big night.  I must say that a lot of shops are seriously missing out on a large and lucrative market by stocking short dresses only, but be that as it may, we need to find something fast. Now I'm sure that my few loyal fans (for which, as always, a great big "Thank You") imagine Suzy Q looking glam on a daily basis, doing the dusting in a revealing negligee and not much else, but if truth be know, fashion has never been a major concession of mine. Reasons various: possibly because I didn't have the resources to indulge a fashion passion, or because I was a bit of a tomboy, and jeans and tackies and t-shirts were, and still are my staples. Suffice to say, I've never really got the girly thing, and would rather spend any spare cash on travel and hedonism than on a Louis Vuitton clutch or a pair of unwearable Jimmy Choos. I also  made my own matric dance dress out of Hawaii print fabric, having once been a bit of a surfing bunny, so this whole lavish extravaganza is a bit new to me.

Not so the little Suzy Q's. They luuurv killer heels, skimpy little dresses and designer labels, so with wallet in hand, I'm learning from these two fashionistas. Miss SQ No 1, somewhat surprisingly, found the perfect matric dance dress at Monsoon during the December holidays, at well under R1000, which I'm told is a modern miracle. Being so fortunate of face and figure (I wonder where she gets it from...?) she stole the show at her dance and was quite Cinderella at the ball, outshining many an extravagant designer gown. Whew, we clearly got off lightly there. However, there is still the current dress problem to solve.

When in doubt, ask the Pilates pals. As I no doubt mentioned before, we share tips and ideas and laughs but, mercifully, not intimate secrets, so it's all smooth sailing, well at least until the annual awards ceremony, when a few miniature knives have been know to come out. I got the number of a great designer, "he who dresses parliamentarians and their wives," so I'm hopeful that he might have a tiny bit of fabric over from all the bales they buy and get some of my tax back. We embarked upon a whole new adventure, going to see him this morning with a few pictures and ideas in mind. He must surely delight to work with such young and easy to dress material, for he sketched my daughter with a few design ideas until she liked what she saw. It was fascinating watching his ideas emerge from the end of his pencil, and reminded me of the magic paint books we used to play with, when the picture appeared with a water application. Such fun! He then measured what little there is of her, draped her in fabric till we found the right colour and fall, and we're totally in thrall.

Can't wait to go back and check on progress (that's if I don't drop dead from the final quote...!?) 


A very excited,


Suzy Q

New Blue Shoes.

I must state my case outright. If I were single and had a facebook account, my status would read, "no men wearing crocs need apply." 
(Men with orange, khaki or perish the thought, personally decorated crocs might as well leap into the moat to be devoured by the real reptile.) They have become an international nightmare, with cutesy shoes in all manner of styles and sizes ranging from infant to giant, with clip on art to add insult to injury. My brother, a style guru and label snob of note, recently pointedly ignored a man he met shopping on a Saturday afternoon, when they had enjoyed good conversation at a dinner party the night before, the minute he noticed his croc clad feet. We both admit, purely out of loyalty, that Mr Suzy Q is the ONLY man we'd ever talk to in crocs, on the grounds that he wears them because of a bad back ("that's why surgeons wear 'em") and he also has many other redeeming features.

I quailed just before Christmas when I spied a discarded croc carrier bag in the bin, with no obvious evidence in sight. (Nothing escapes Suzy Q's beady eye when out doing the daily dirt, you see!) A bit of intensive, investigative snooping under the tree revealed a suspiciously box shaped package labelled for me, with an ominous "Welcome to the Club" clue. Now, les belle teens won't even go to the corner shop with Mr Suzy Q if he wears his infamous crocs, so they were unlikely to be members of this new club, and knowing my more malleable personality, I reckoned the beastly reptilian shoes were destined for me. Perhaps he really didn't want us to make it to our forthcoming 20th wedding anniversary...?


Come Christmas morning, with all eyes on me, I opened said package with no small amount of trepidation and anxiety, trying to read meaning into the bemused faces around me. And lo, a pair of little blue lace up tackies, just the style I adore, unfurled themselves before me, and they really looked quite cute. Thinking that I was the butt of some wicked joke I hadn't quite fathomed out yet, I tried them on, just to keep them all sweet and smiling (for the knives were yet to come out as we planned to prepare the turkey together, and the kitchen is never large enough for both of us). Hmmm, feather light, unbelievably comfortable, and yes, cute. Their trick had worked on me. Just as I was getting to love them, I noticed the wicked crocodile grin on the little logo on the side. Ah well, what the hell, never look a gift croc in the jaws, I love them and now wear them to death. Merci beaucoup Monsieur Suzy Q!

One small problem, what about my brother? Well, I guess he's short sighted anyway, but will he disown me when he notices my defection...?


Your croc clad,


Suzy Q

Scorched earth!

We are in the throes of a heat wave kids, just as photos of cold and snow beyond belief pop into my inbox from the Frozen North. Heathrow seems to have come to a standstill, and we are in serious danger of runaway fires here. Let's hope that we don't have any fires started by litterbugs (yup, Suzy Q's back on her hobby horse) throwing their stompies out of their windows as they drive by with their boom boxes blaring. It may interest to you to know that there is a dedicated line in Cape Town (because of the high fire risk in summer) so that civilians can report people who flick their stompies out their windows. Just note the time, place, make and registration of the car, call 021-4247715 and they will get a warning letter, or at worst, be traced if a fire breaks out in the vicinity of the incident. There have been too many incidences of runaway fires, resulting in massive use of resources, and risk to life limb and our precious indigenous flora and fauna. Do your citizen's duty and put the scummy stompie litterers on the hot spot!


See: http://www.timeslive.co.za/local/2012/01/11/stompie-hotline-nailing-the-smoking-nuisances

There is  general moaning and groaning and gnashing of teeth as we who are privileged enough to live in the burbs try to cope with the heat by doing our errands in air conditioned cars, and cool off in our swimming pools or have easy enough access to the beach. Yet again, my heart goes out to Agnes, our weekly domestic helper, who travels in hot, crowded taxis and trains and returns to her shack which must bake in today's 42' heat, with nowhere to run or hide. She always has the opportunity to shower when she works here as she still has no running water at home, and leaves, I hope, feeling a little refreshed after her day's work. For all this, and call me the coward I am for I have never asked, not wishing to pry or overstep the mark, I doubt that she has ever had the pleasure of a relaxing soak in a bath. 

The things we so easily take for granted may never happen in her lifetime. Remind me to tell you about Singapore sometime. I'll try not to bore you, as I have such admiration for that model state, founded with so little in the way of natural resources, but with so much vision and great leadership, where even the lowliest of workers have a solid roof over their head, running water, good state education and in everyone I met, there was a great sense of pride and hope for the future of their children, so lacking here. We can only but dream of a leader and visionary of the calibre of Lee Kuan Yew.

And need I say, no stompies or litter to be seen anywhere there either, which may be as a result of civic pride or fear of the law which strictly forbids such anti social behaviour. I don't care that it might be called a draconian society - it clearly works!