The dirty world of money

It’s tjaila time and I’m stuck in a traffic jam. I forgot all about those, holed up in my Covid safe-house but, sometimes, a girl is forced to brave the new world to go make a buck.

I watch the brunette in the silver Beemer next to me shining up her lips while all I want is a wet one to wipe the grime off after sweating it out in a stuffy, overcrowded office.

It’s the smell that gets you when you wake up from a long hibernation, I think as I waft in precious fumes from all the idling around me – that and the dirt.

Oh, I got dirty while hiding at home. Constant soil under my fingernails because you have a 10-minute smoke break to quickly plant your seedlings.

Constant paint splatter from touching up that chair you now have time to give some TLC because you saved that half-hour trip to the office.

But that’s a different kind of dirt. Clean dirt. Your dirt.

Office dirt is heaters, perfumes, strange desks, pens you don’t know how many have touched.

Outside world dirt is change for your bread, trolley handles you wipe but just know … and, of course, the spray, spray, spray everywhere and anywhere.

Not your dirt. I know my dirt and my smells: the jasmine budding throughout the cold; the rotting vineyard leaves covering my stoep; the dogs’ sighs and kisses – and I feel safe.

Today, having faced this brave new world? I’m no brave little mouse – and I refuse to apologise for it because I just don’t get it: are we back to normal?

Not on your life. It’s level 3, delta is lurking and my jabs are not done. I, like you, shouldn’t be stuck in a traffic jam, battle to find a parking, jostle my way through waves of people.

I, like you, should just simply stay safe – and the way to do it is stay out of each other’s hair and lair.

So, call me a baby. Yes, my eyes see a brand-new world – but it is dirty and smelly. You can have it, thank you very much. I’m going back to my cocoon.