My treacherous BFF

She floated into my car on a fluffy pink cloud of bliss.

            “My best friend gave me this necklace today,” she oozed, fondly stroking the precious declaration of eternal friendship. I choked on my water.

            “And your best friend is…?”

            “Tammy!” she purred.

Yup. The same little bitch who announced JUST THE PREVIOUS DAY that she’ll never play with my daughter again...ever.

While she clearly moved on from last night’s crisis, my wounds were still raw. But I bit down my catty retort. My BFF issues are forty years more complicated than hers. What kind of mother and human being have I become, anyway, who rolls her eyes at the idea of unselfish loyalty to a soul sister?

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Gatvol gebraai

Ek’s 'n regte Suid-Afrikaner. As die son Saterdagaand water trek, dan soek ek ‘n houtvuur en ‘n wyntjie. Ek wil braaibroodjies eet terwyl die wors op die kole sis. Ek wil lag en gesels en trane afvee oor sinnelose goedjies en diep sake, terwyl die naguil se roep my geanker aan Afrika hou. Maar deesdae raak ek lugtig. Of dit die drank of die donkerte, vrees of gewoonte is weet ek nie, maar alte dikwels, om ‘n braaivleisvuur, moet ek teen wil en dank luister na die een of ander half-besope rassis, wat met passie sy ondeurdagte opinies oor die regering en sy landgenote lug. Regtig? Hoe is dit oukei?

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Happily ever after: A guide for the princess who picked the wrong prince

So you’ve picked the wrong prince.

I told you so, says Mom. Being married to the wrong prince is a predicament she knows all too well. She was hoping to protect you from similar misery. But you were blind. Until the blinkers fell off and there, at your dinner table, sat a frog. Now you have time-share, a bond, a few children, property jointly owned with in-laws, and a school reunion coming up. What to do?

Read more: Happily ever after: A guide for the princess who picked the wrong prince

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