Plawster

Last week we ate lunch at Cafe Java, a restaurant serving light meals and coffee at the Umdloti beachfront.  While waiting for lunch Frost cut his foot on a piece of tile with sharp edges.   He was hopping around and pressing a piece of paper napkin against it so I asked the waitress for a bandaid.

She said they didn't have bandaids.
I explained it was for a cut, like if you cut your finger in the kitchen and then I had a moment of clarity.

"Do you have a PLAWSTER?" I asked in my best South Effrikan English.

"Oh, ja." she said and hurried of to find one.  The plaster was large and in an interestingly dry kind of stiff paper wrapper that took some work to open.

Frost and Wren were very impressed and Wren wanted one too.

On the way up to Leisure Bay, Wren cut his foot on an 8 foot piece of industrial steel Ingrid had squeezed in between the kids (don't ask, this kind of thing happens all the time here).  His foot started bleeding.

"I need a plawster!"  he cried.   Ingrid got him one out of the glove box but despite his misery we could not help smiling.

His accent was perfect.