My first housewarming was a disaster: burnt steaks, a swimming dog, and panicked parenting. Yet, it felt real—and perfectly mine.
You know how people say: “Don’t worry, they’re just coming to see you, not your house”? They lie.
The moment I invited my first group of friends over to my brand-new house, I turned into a Pinterest-possessed, scatterbrained lunatic with a to-do list longer than a Woolies till slip.
I scrubbed walls that weren’t dirty. I even ironed the hand towels – the hand towels, people.
I had visions of soft music, laughter, delicate wine glasses clinking gently while someone said: “Oh wow, this place feels so you.”
What actually happened was this: at 1.30pm, the braai fire died. Not fizzled out – died. As in, it made one last attempt at licking at the steaks, and then… nothing.
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My carefully marinated, thick steaks were still a very pale pinkish colour.
I panicked and tried to get a new fire going, but realised that I had run out of firelighters.
By the way, rolled up newspapers make a lot of smoke when placed under charcoal.
Then, my friend’s Italian greyhound – still a puppy – decided to break the nervous tension by leaping into the swimming pool. A second albeit larger splash followed the first.
My son smiled with stiff lips when he emerged from the freezing water, the dog clutched under one arm.
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The smoky fire was forgotten for a few minutes as everyone rushed around to find dry towels for dog and rescuer.
More guests arrived to a scene that looked less like House and Leisure and more like The Great Fire of Saffron Avenue.
There I was, bravely trying to keep out of the way of smoke, attempting to get the charcoal going, while the smaller children polished all the sweet-filled bowls, because the food took too long.
Their mothers gave me daggered looks but after seeing that I was on the verge of hysterics, they made the kids run around in the huge garden to work off the extra sugar.
And yet… everything turned out fine.
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Later, we drank wine from mismatched mugs because I forgot to wash enough glasses.
The dog was renamed “Aquadog”, but we kept a close eye on him when he ran near the pool.
We ate medium-rare steaks with lots of Worcestershire sauce poured over it.
And suddenly someone said: “This place feels so you.”
Not because it was perfect.
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But because it was real. And honestly? I’ve never felt more at home.
