Monday Afternoon
Karl picked us up after volunteering at school and dropped us back off at the IVHQ volunteer house after dropping off a few others staying at different houses along the way. One of the older volunteers (and by older I mean in volunteer weeks, not age) offered to take us to Checkers – the main grocery store chain in Muizenberg, and although my inner sorority girl was perfectly fine with the pre-scheduled meal plan served at the house, I decided to take a stroll into “town” anyway.
I ended up finding a cheap little clothing store next door to it where I bought a much-needed pair of boots for only 250 ZAR ($25 USD) and a little knit head warmer for my icicle ears. If you go to South Africa during winter, you will wear the same boots, and you will love them dearly. When the guys were done shopping, we took a walk down to the beach where the volunteers in the afterschool surf program were just starting lessons.
The tiny beach in Muizenberg is worth a massive amount of words. From it’s vibrantly colored swimsuit-changing huts to the boldly cut mountains providing a picturesque backdrop, it’s definitely postcard worthy, especially with the little kids riding the waves in on the DTR (Dreams to Reality) surfboards aided by the volunteers. Mr. Talk Dark and Handsome (let’s call him Mr. TDH) happened to be one of them sitting on a board in the middle of the waves, coaching an excited little kid on what to do next. I nonchalantly snapped a pic…just in case he wanted it to post later or something…
Our next stop was a small café across from the DTR surf shop where it was insisted that I try the hot chocolate made from hot milk and a chunk of solid chocolate stirred into it which was beyond delicious. It was starting to get dark so we did one last social media and email check with their free wifi and headed back to the house.
Since it was still raining later that night, we ended up going back to Primi to get some drinks, (more) pizza, and (more) free Internet. I was a bit disappointed that the weather left us with little options on what to do, but at least the company was fun and the wine was cheap. You could tell that none of us were used to not having constant Internet access – the entire table was quiet and nose deep in their iPhones, tablets, or laptops for the majority of the meal. Mr. TDH (and now also M for mysterious) was at the opposite end of the table so I had to figure out a way to talk to him. Because I was back in highschool and all.
“You’re in my picture.” I said finally, like one of my second graders. He took the iPhone from my extended reach and examined the phenomenal photo I had accidentally-on-purpose taken of him earlier that day. Not creepy I swear. “Oh ya!” He said in his adorable yet extremely masculine and hard-to-understand accent, “Can you send it to me?”
“Just tag yourself in it, it’s a Picstitch on my Instagram.” I said casually as if any given person should have known what the hell that meant. And thus started my Instagram icebreaker with Mr. TDH. So mature. After we maxed out our free Internet usage at poor Primi, we continued our Monday night at the questionable and sketchy local bar two blocks away called The Village. Everyone furthered their drinking while I furthered my obnoxious conversation about conspiracy theories, which surprisingly intrigued him. That’s how you know they’re a good one – any guy who doesn’t think your crazy after explaining what you think happened to the missing Malaysia Airlines flight for half an hour is awesome. Bonus points if they agree.
Anyway, the night didn’t end up in any way, shape, or form how I expected it to. Although everyone was falling asleep at the bar, half of them suddenly got a second wind when the party-guy of the group suggested going to some local kids’ house to play pool and “hang out”. Sounded like the worst idea I had ever heard of, so a few of us went back to the house while Mr. TDH protectively accompanied the others to the potential black market.
We decided to play a prank on the party guy and literally attempted devising an entire performance about his iPad getting stolen from my GBF’s (gay best friend) backpack while we were trying to get in, completely forgetting that it was actually something that could very possibly happen. Two hours later when they finally got home we couldn’t even get past the opening line when the girls asked us what was wrong, and the party guy didn’t even notice it was missing until three days later. Bad joke. Whatever.
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