The book was an early Christmas gift from my husband. I read it in the early morning, in the garden while the rest of the house was asleep. Do you know the smell of Nivea body lotion? That is the scent that came in waves from the moonflowers I planted two years ago, cuttings from Sidey’s garden.
I laughed out loud at one passage; this book makes fun of our quest to be politically correct. There truly is no nation like us anywhere else in the world:
White chicks, like Black chicks, love to dance (although White chicks don’t dance in the streets when they’re disgruntled). Most Friday nights, groups of White chicks get dressed in skimpy outfits and doll themselves up to look more beautiful than they actually are. Then they go to nightclubs and throw their bags and jackets in a little pile on the floor and huddle in groups and do their dancing with their backs turned to everyone else. It’s somewhat insular if you ask me.
There’s just one problem. White chicks can’t dance. Black chicks get their bums and hips to move to the music as if they have a mind of their own but White chicks can’t manage to do this – they have to think about their dance moves and practice them so their dancing always appears a tad forced. That’s why if you see a White dancing next to a Black, the White looks like she has rigor mortis while the Black moves like she’s made of grape-flavoured jelly.
Because they are so useless at modern dancing, White chicks will employ other forms of dancing. The most common alternative is called “The Twist”. The Twist is a really simple dance Whites’ parents invented back in the 1960s because they couldn’t dance either. All you do is bend your knees, lean slightly forward and then kick your heels from side to side while making a running motion with your arms. This dance is so easy that it gives the impression that White chicks can actually dance.
All too soon Nzwa’s lunch hosts arrive to fetch her. I stalled them with champagne cocktails and we had a lovely visit with lots of laughter. Nzwa was hilarious; she told us this is her first ‘White Christmas’.
My cup runneth over, it really does.