I reach for the sloppy, creamy delicious-as-hell doughnut I bought from Spar earlier today. I know it’s somewhere on the small table next to my pillow-infested bed but I daren’t forsake Elizabeth, who’s about to be a good twin and rip her sister a new one. And so my hand, disembodied and disconnected from all useful brain activity, flounders like a fish out of water, searching for sustenance while I read on…
Why can’t you get it into your thick skull that Bruce likes m—
Plod.
“Argh Winsome! Did you have to chuck that right at my face?”
“I couldn’t watch your hand not find that dumb doughnut anymore.”
“Well thanks, I guess. Did you eat yours already?”
“Obviously! I take it your book’s as good as mine?”
“Ja, flippen Jessica. She’s, like, changed her whole personality so that she can be with Bruce Patman.”
“Oh ja, I remember that one. I mean, these Sweet Valley High books are pretty dumb though.”
“But also pretty awesome. Especially when it’s raining outside.”
Shovelling the doughnut into my mouth, my eyes revert back to the page.
…—that Bruce likes me!
‘It takes more than a few kisses to prove that,’ Elizabeth declared to her sis—.
“Anj. ANJ! What.Is.That.
“What?”
“THAT! That thing over there!”
“Woah – that’s huge! It’s a mosquito, I think. Gross, man.”
“Why’s it so big? They’re not that huge at home?”
“I dunno, maybe because we’re next to a river? What if that thing bites us? We’d bleed to death. And look there are more over there. We should definitely kill them.”
Ditching our snacks and stories we scramble around in search of would-be weapons. Shoes! Yes! These blood sucking beasties don’t know who they’re messing with.
Takkie in hand, Winsome wastes no time in launching an almighty swing for the enemy – a maniacal shriek emanating directly from the soul of Boudicca the badass who seems to have taken possession of my friend.
Boudicca misses…
…and careens into the floor with the finesse of an Ork.
But wait.
“Look, its leg is stick to the bottom of your shoe. And you left an imprint in the wall.”
Success?
We looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“You can’t shriek like that. My aunt will think you’re being murdered!”
“Sorry,” says Winsome with tears in her eyes. “It just came out.”
Now it’s my turn. A pillow. It will cover a pretty big surface area, I figure. Overkill, one might think? Do not be deceived. These are mutant mozzies, laying in wait for juicy flesh to meander within poking distance and then… STRIKE!
The pillow is perfect.
I creep slowly towards toward the curtain (claiming the element of surprise) and, taking a trick from my friend, I launch like Boudicca – minus the shriek – beating the pillow against the curtain.
“Stop! I think you killed it!”
“Yay, I got it!”
“No, not the mosquitoes – you chop; you killed the curtain.”
“Oh, oops.”
The curtain has been slightly derailed.
“Can you fix it? You’re taller than me. If you stand on that chest of drawers? Also, look! There are TWO mozzies up there.”
“I see them. Tonight – they die.”
“Mwahahahahaha.” I can’t help myself.
Winsome climbs onto the chest of drawers and carefully reaches up to reattach the curtain to its rail whilst I stand on the bed – as backup, you know. Pillow in hand, I ready myself in a pounce position. Torpedo-Andrea. Meanwhile, Winsome lifts her leg, baseball stance, and thrusts her arm behind her head…
…the takkie hurtles through that air just as my aunty Elaine opens the door to our room.
No, the shoe does not hit my aunty in the face – thank goodness, because that would have turned an already hysterical situation into, well, mega hysteria. The shoe bounces off the wall and onto the floor.
“Girls! What is going on in here? Why are you standing on the furniture?”
In unison we blurt apologies – that we’d been reading our books and eating our doughnuts when the mosquitoes accosted us and ruined our peace, sanity, snacking and stories. My aunty kindly (not kindly) asks if we could please stop being ridiculous and making so much commotion and – “Don’t they have mosquitoes in Jo’burg, for Heaven’s sake?”…
…and offers us a couple of fly swatters.
Why do I feel like these will be even more fun than shoes and pillows?
Author & Storyteller: Andrea Zanin
Andrea is a writer, wife, mother and dreamer; also the author of this website. She moved to London in 2006 to earn £s, travel, see bands and buy 24-up Dr Martens—which she did, and then ended up staying. Andrea lives in North London with her husband (also a Saffa) and five children. She loves this grand old city but misses her home and wishes her children could say “lekker” (like a South African) and knew what a “khoki” is.
