Diaparo tsa Keresemese

Boys in white dresses with blue satin sashes;
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes;
Silver-white winters that melt into springs;
These are a few of my favorite things

Its time to be jubilant and filled with the spirit again. Starbucks says so, Amazon says so, and the kiddies skating in Bryant park - giddy with laughter say so. I have bought my christmas clothes: A new pair of hefty, manly, leather Timberland boots (the sales assistant told me that they were exactly what I needed and that he was the only one in the city who could sell them to me), and a new winter jacket of questionable pedigree. Christmas clothes used to be a very literal thing when I was about 7. They were clothes that would make their debut in the public on christmas day, or at the earliest, christmas eve. They could be worn inside the house once or twice for about 10 minutes as a sneak preview. Sometimes my parents would ask us to model the clothes once we got home, especially if there were guests around. My parents derived lots of entertainment from making us do stupid things when we were young - they still try. The purchase of those clothes was always an occasion: usually on the weekend after the November payday (or close to it). We would be woken up early on a saturday and rounded up into the car to go to town. Bloemfontein City Centre was such an exciting place to be. All those gaudy people and christmas decorations, the big Edgars clothing shop, Juicy Lucy (a chain restaurant), Pizza... everything anyone ever needed could be found there. I did not break tradition this year, I wore my christmas jacket on the way back from the shop just to check its phlyness on the street... and I may have been strutting to the beat of Lady Marmalade.

Those of you who are close to me may be alarmed to read that I bought leather shoes after all that hand-wringing and prostheletyzing about animal killing and wearing. "He has lost his way" you may be saying, "He has been taken by the city lights and the fast boys". It is true friends, your humble village-mouse has fallen from grace. It all started when I attended a student society film screening mostly because I was hungry and did not feel like having cereal that night. I should have known not to; my mother taught me at an early age to never attend an event hungry, especially not a funeral. I fumbled in after the film had started. By the dim silver glow of the screen I strained to see what kind of wrap I had picked up. It looked like crab meat or chicken. But decidedly more like crab meat. The first bite tasted chicken-ish, there was mustard so I was not sure. By the fourth bite I knew what was happening and I did not stop it... I could not stop it.

I felt sad when the lights came up. My usual rule is that when it is dark enough for one not to see one's own hand stretched out in front of one, then whatever one does in such darkness does not count; one can continue to live as if nothing happened. I knew, though, that not even my rule could erase this tragedy. Fast forward 2 weeks and I am being fed a piece of turkey by a temptress with a tastefully decorated apartment - 3 days after that and I am buying dead animal shoes for the winter. I have been brought down low.

Now I am impatiently waiting for the snow to come. Its not here yet. It better come - for the sake of those two dead cows I will be wearing.