Carol’s Column

So who’s busy?

HAVE you noticed how busy everyone is these days?

Such as: “Hi, Sandy, can you come and have dinner with us?”

“Great, great, we’d love to.”

“How about February 3, 1984?”

“Let me look at my diary.” Pause. “Oh sorry, we’re busy that night. How about January 3, 1985?”

“That’s a date. See you then.”

Or:

“Good morning, I’d like to book an appointment with Claude to have my hair cut, permed and blow-dried.”

“Certainly, Modom. When would you like the appointment?”

“Well, my hair really looks a mess. How about tomorrow?”

“Ha, ha, Modom — you’re joking of course. Claude is a busy, busy man. How about November 29?”

“But that’s in six weeks.”

The icy tone freezes the phone causing icicles to form on the receiver. “Shall I book you for the 29th?”

Hastily: “Great, I’ll shave my head in the meanwhile and wear a turban.”

“Ha, ha, Modom will have her little joke.”

And then I have an inspiration and phone the local doggie parlour who is only too happy to fit me in between a maltese poodle and an Afghan hound.

So who cares if I emerge looking like a basset.

Last Tuesday I was eating a chocolate-coated, nut sprinkle-spread toffee lolly when I noticed a silver nut nestling among its colleagues.

On closer observation I noticed it was indeed a filling and not a nut.

Furthermore, I could feel the Vesuvius-like crater but I didn’t realise how bad it was until I lost a hamburger in the hole.

I phoned the dentist urgently.

“I’m in agony — I’ve lost a filling — I can’t shut my mouth, chew or eat. The pain is excruciating. I’ve lost five kilos and I’m a shadow of myself.”

“Tch, tch, tch,” the dental receptionist tittered sympathetically. “Dr Puller is incredibly busy, but in an emergency he’ll fit you in. Can you be here the following Tuesday at 8am?”

“You mean I have to walk around in pain for a week?”

“Look on the bright side — it could have been six weeks.”

And so it goes.

At the butcher I ordered topside. He sniggered. “Sorry, Mrs Lazar, we’re out of cows. They’ve been busy lately, frolicking, mating, cudding. But come back in a month and I’ll see what I can do.”

My fridge expired. The refrigerator maintenance man also had a problem. Said his receptionist: “I’m sorry Mr Lucern’s busy. He died last night.”

Agnes Tuttle’s car broke down — it was something minor. The rear wheel fell off which impeded her driving.

The garage was too busy to attend to it immediately. “Drive it for a few weeks and we see what we can do when the machines are not quite so busy.”

And on the home front someone called I M Busy moved in with us.

For example:

text cut off in photograph put your dirty washing in the bin it’s clogging the house — I have just sprained my little toe falling over your rugby shorts.”

“Later, Ma, I’m busy.”

“Jamie, please will you remove the mole snake from the bath. It’s blocking the spout.”

“OK, Ma, just now — I’m busy.”

But the finale came last night when we went to good friends for dinner.

The hostess being a cordon bleu cook, we starved ourselves for two days in gluttonous anticipation.

The table looked exquisite. A delicate Chantilly lace cloth, silver cutlery and crystal glasses. Our stomachs growled with happiness.

And then the main course arrived. A fast foods banquet. Frozen pizza and instant pudding.

“Darlings, I’ve been so busy today — I thought this would make a welcome change to the usual, over-catered and over-rich six-course meal.”

The guests were too busy choking to hear.

Finally — I have it on good authority that the busy disease has hit the sex lives of thousands of South Africans.

Today, the excuse for abstaining is no longer: “I have a headache, my back’s sore, my corns hurt, I haven’t shaved my legs, I forgot to switch off the washing machine.”

No — the new line is now: “I’m busy.”

Well, at least it’s short and to the point.

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