April 17, 2008
As He Finally Gives In.
It was Thursday morning, which obviously found me curled up in the foetal position, wondering where I was, and why I had love bites all over my chest. As my grogginess dissipated, the memories of the previous night slowly seeped back – memories of great high jinks at Asoka, celebrating the holiday known as Wednesday. Memories of drinking a large vase of Jameson, which I later tried to put under my blouse and walk out with. Memories of asking a vagrant for spare change, as I thought he would find this ironic and funny, which he clearly didn’t as he let his dog loose on me.
Ah, so these weren’t hickeys on my muscular pecs after all, these were in fact dog bites from the Alsatian with the mangy coat. It was whilst making a note in my diary to get tetanus shots, that my phone rang in a rather shrill manner, causing me to spill my beer all over the bed sheets.
“Shite. The Girlfriend is going to think I wet the bed again,” I muttered to myself fearfully, as I groped around for my cell.
The call was a strange one, coming from someone who claimed to be my agent.
Me: What the f**k are you talking about? I don’t have an agent.
Agent: You DO have an agent, I debit R25 off your account every month.
Me: Oooh right, I joined your agency YEARS ago. I thought you were dead.
Agent: Why would I be dead?
Me: I kept leaving message on your phone and you never called me back.
Agent: [silence]….Oh right… No, my phone was in for repairs then.
Me: For eight months?
Agent: Ja, I lost a lot of business. Look, let’s not dwell on the past. What’s important right now is that Cosmo wants to do a writeup about you.
Me: Cosmo? That’s a little surprising.
Agent: Ja, I couldn’t believe it either. I think they’re confusing you with someone else. Are you Shaun Oakes?
Me: Of course I’m Shaun Oakes. Shouldn’t you know this?
Agent: No, obviously I know that. I was just checking. That was the name they sent me on this piece of paper. Sometimes they get the names wrong though, if the handwriting isn’t neat. You’re sure your name isn’t Danny K?
Me: No… no, I’m pretty sure my name isn’t Danny K.
Agent: Oh okay.
Agent: Do you perhaps KNOW Danny K?
Me: We’ve crossed paths, but I don’t really know him very well, no.
Agent: That’s a pity. I’d dig to be his agent.
Me: Well you’re not his agent, you’re mine.
Agent: Ja, I know. I’m just saying.
Agent: So you’re Shaun OAKES, I just want to get the spelling right.
A painful and awkward few minutes later, found me again passed out, concerned over my agent’s ineptitude as well as my potential death because of the previous night’s dog attack.
A few months flew by and a few mornings back saw The Girlfriend beating me over the nose with a rolled up magazine, as I had forgotten to iron her clothes for that day. It was the May edition of Cosmopolitan, and the glossy cover caused it to slip out of her hand, landing on page 30 where, ironically enough, my little writeup can be found.
And what a nice little write-up it is. I liked the part where they describe me as “fun, charming and potentially the greatest icon to come out of Cape Town since this whole Table Mountain thing”. Wow? Did they really say that? I mean, I added quotes and everything, it MUST be true.
Read the magazine to find out. It’s the one with the heavily made up model, who looks a bit like Keira Knightley’s brother.
What was that?
Her name is Gina Athans?
Oh okay, cool. It’s the one with Gina Athans on the cover then. Get it now.
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