So I walk into this Wigga store where whiteys can bling themselves out with fabulous rapper gear.The mission is to buy myself this kief Adidas watch (99 bucks dude!).
While I'm donning my newly acquired time peace and admiring the way it makes my muscles look bigger, my eye falls on the most testosteronetastic jacket ever manufactured by the hands of Asian workers!
I slowly approach aforementioned jacket, hoping beyond hope that it isn't one of those 'nice from far ' situations and lo and behold my luck holds out.
This thing is cool man, and I mean cooool! It has flair, but not kitch like PEP flair or Fabulous like Cape Town flair, no. This jacket has that 'Playa' look about it.
I quickly grab the thing and gooi it on before stepping to the mirror.
Suddenly I am transported back to the eighties, where the middle upper class kids in school could afford those cool jackets with the square shoulders that required a flickable 'kuif' (A fringe, like Justin Bieber has...lol). Back then, one of those jackets would turn the heavily hairsprayed head of any hottie in your direction.
But I was poor and didn't have a 'kuif' so I maar had to settle for an el cheapo bomber jacket with that dayglo orange vibe on the inside.
Back to 2012, me in front of the mirror in the wigger shop, feeling like a boss! (Pronounced 'Bause' to the uninformed).
My wife delivers her "Very cool" verdict and it's a done deal! She even pats me on the butt as I walk away... I'm like "Nou praat jy!"
I don't even take the thing off. I walk straight to the counter and chune the oke "how much". He chunes "Seeks feefty" and I'm like "Bahgain!"
I step out of the shop and into the street (No dahling, it wosn't the mohl of Rrrosebahnk), Black dudes check me out and gooi the old 'respect' nod, I'm like "yeah baby, test one passed!"
The true test awaits when I hit whitey territory around the corner. You see, black dudes will aknowledge your swag a lot quicker than white dudes will. Whiteys will chuck you in the Bieber box if your clothes are testosterone deficient and you DO NOT want to go into the Bieber box!
I turn into our little Pick 'n Pay where die boere buy their braai spices and other assorted weapons of mass carnivoration. Down an isle to grab my stock of assorted Aromat flavors - no disapproving looks from the critics yet, so far, so good!
Then it happens...
I'm in the line at the till standing behind an old oomie when I hear a familiar gruff voice behind me.
"Hey boet, groet jy nie?" (Hey bro, Y u no say hello?).
I turn around and it's the farmer two properties down from us. A staunch conservative whose idea of fashion is Khaki and Cats (The boot, not the animal).
The dude is scanning my jacket like I'm hiding boobs under there or something.
I think, "oh hell, here it comes".
Silence drags on for what seems forever and I nervously stutter my "hallo oom" greeting. Beeping tills and background chatter fade to the background and I brace for impact...
"Jeete maar dis n lekker jas daai! Waar het jy hom gekoop?" (Epic jacket bru, where dost thou purchased so fine a garment).
I'm like "Wut?"
His wife murmurs similar thoughts while inspecting the workmanship of my totally swag yet evidently boer friendly jacket. They even interrogate me for the whereabouts of this awesome shop and head out the door in that direction.
I tell you what.
I walked out of Pick 'n Pay like that BeeGees chune was playing in the background! (Stayin Alive...).
That sweet sense of victory! Yeah baby!
I'm rollin, the boers are diggin my swag and the haters be silent.
Now I just gotta get some lekker rims on my chorrie and an amposaurus in my boot with a kief woofer so that my watch and jacket don't feel so lonely...
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