THE FISHNET TIGHTS
My friend Deb is the most inspirational and innovative teacher I have ever met. The children just adore her and would move mountains to make her happy. One morning in a staff meeting she asked for some ‘oldies’ on the staff to join her in a Tap class with the ballet teacher, as some extras were needed in her annual show. Several of us fell about laughing at the thought but eagerly attended the first lesson. If Deb could do it – we would do it!
The minute I put those tap shoes on my feet became inspired! I had not tapped since I was six years old but, just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and her Red Shoes, my feet did their own thing. They danced and spun like demons and I loved every minute of it. Unfortunately the back and the feet had a huge disagreement and by the end of the term, after x-rays and many hours of physiotherapy, I had to pack up my tap shoes and be content to watch the others having all the fun.
Deb was the leader of the pack and after every class there were many hours of practicing during lunch breaks and after school. The troupe became adept and lithe and I envied each and every one of them.
At last the BIG day arrived and I dragged my husband ,kicking and screaming, to the Hex to observe this wonderful band of ‘oldies’ do their thing. The drums rolled and from behind the curtains out walked a wonderfully voluptuous Marilyn Munroe look-alike in a little black number with fishnet tights. Deb in all her glory was the narrator on the night and she wove the magic of the night with her voice. The music started and Deb turned to retreat behind the curtains but something was wrong! Very, very wrong! Apart from not finding the opening in the curtains she appeared to be walking very strangely. A very good impersonation of a duck!
Eventually she disappeared into the meters and meters of fabric and the show began. We were entranced and admired the tenacity of all the dancers, never mind the ‘oldies’ who conducted themselves with aplomb. The babies were a delight and had us giggling with their strange antics on the stage, especially the little plump ones! The young ladies were beautiful, elegant and serene and the Irish Tap Dancers held us spell bound. The ‘Sound of Music’ scene was the best as we all knew the music and the story line so we were completely enthralled.
After the show I sort out my friends and found the cast in stitches of laughter. The story was that everyone had been asked to wear black fishnet tights for the first scene and, as you can only buy ‘one size fits all’ tights, this proved to be a huge dilemma for Deb who, being a rather larger than life lady, had a problem putting them on. The legs parted company with the panty!
The intrepid, innovative teacher came to the fore and Deb decided to tuck the stockings into her passion killers. However this became highly impractical as she was moving all the time. The stockings started sliding down. Then she pinned them to the legs of her magic panties with small safety pins. Thinking all was under control she sailed out onto the stage in her wonderful costume to begin her narration. When she turned to go back through the curtains she found her thighs had welded together like steel! The pins had locked and intertwined making movement almost impossible, hence the duck walk impersonation. The mind boggles at what happened backstage at that point but hats off to the cast, they put their best foot forward and went on with the show.
To this day the story evokes much joy and laughter in the staff room and Deb, although the butt of the joke, is always ready to share her story with us.
A true leader – in fishnet tights!
The man with the toothless grin.
I get to meet many interesting people in my line of work. All have a story to tell if you have half an ear to listen.
The day I met the toothless man I had been hurriedly walking through the foyer of the school where I work and just happened to notice someone knocking at the front door. I automatically opened the door and offered to help the person. It was an old man who, after snatching his cap off his head in respect and showing his recently shaved, bald head, broke out into the merriest of smiles and gave me a huge , toothless grin.
“Goeie More, Nonnie”, he said. ‘Kan jy Afrikaans praat, want my Engels is nie so goed nie?’
I assured him that I had a smattering of Afrikaans in my vocabulary and asked him what the problem was.
‘Nee, nonnie, dis a lang storie!’
I offered him a seat on the bench in the foyer and sat down next to him. The sooner we started this long story the sooner we would get it over with and I would be able to go back to work. With that I started to listen to his tale, with half an ear I might add as I was distracted and wanted to get back to my work.
‘I am in a huge predicament he went on. You see it is like this…’ (you must remember this was all in Afrikaans so I am giving you the shortened version!)
‘I work for the Ou Baas. We go back many years. We worked together on the mines in Sishen and I was his right hand man. We grew old together and the Ou Baas bought a farm in Kaffirland.’
He must have seen my face and he laughed his huge, toothless grin. ‘Nee nonnie, ek vloek nie’ (I am not swearing) ‘there is a place called Kaffirland, it is over there… (pointing towards the West) near to Sishen.’
‘Now, there comes a day when the Ou Baas tells me that the Jong Baas, who stays in Camperdown and has a farm there, wants the old Land Rover. So he throws me the keys and tells me to take the ‘Blerry, ou Land Rover’ and drive to Camperdown.’
The look on this poor old man’s face when he was presented with this expedition was a picture. It was painful. He almost had tears in his eyes. HE HAD NEVER BEEN TO KWA ZULU NATAL BEFORE!
‘I took the keys and the money for the petrol and I drove from Kaffirland to Camperdown. It took me a ‘hell’se tyd, nonnie’, and he wiped his face with his handkerchief .
‘Many hours later I found the farm where the Jong Baas lives and I drive the ‘Blerry’ Land Rover up to the front door. There I find the Ou Nooi (presumably the Jong Baas’s mother-in-law) crying her eyes out.’ Eventually he finds out that the Jong Baas and his wife had been involved in a car accident and were somewhere in hospital in Pietermaritzburg and she, the Ou Nooi, had no way of getting to them because she could not drive. The Ou Nooi was hysterical!
At this stage the Zulus on the farm began gathering around the man from Kaffirland, whom I presume could not speak Zulu. They took one look at the situation and put two and two together! Obviously the man from Kaffirland had made the old lady cry and for that he must be punished!!!
They began beating him and attacking him.
He decided then and there to get the hell out of the situation and ran for his life. He made it somehow back to Pietermaritzburg and spent the night at the Loop Street Police Station and the rest was history. He looked for a good Christian place that would help him in his dilemma.
At last we had come to the gist of the story.
How much help did he need I asked.
‘Net R65-00’, he said. That was all he needed to catch a taxi back to Kaffirland and away from the marauding Zulus!
At this stage I relented. R65-00 was not going to get him anywhere near Sishen in these days of recession but for a story such as the one he had just told with such expression and such colourful language I would happily give him the R65-00.
I was rewarded with the wonderful, toothless grin and a huge twinkle in his eye!
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