Thinking out loud

Thinking Out Loud

by Stellio Coutsides

A Love Like No Other

I experienced a surreal moment last month. A little bird told me I needed to get to McGinty’s to see Princess Charlene.

Within five minutes, I spotted the royal table nestled between the boeties and their beers.

Charlene met with me personally, sharing a warmth and friendliness that belies her eminence.

We shared a hug and a quick discussion about her new charity and Charlize’s conspicuous absence in this town.

All the while I experienced the hallmarks of the presence of royalty: nerves, excitement; my girlfriend’s nails digging into my hand.

Boy oh boy, did I score brownie points.

As celebrities go. you don’t get much bigger than Her Serene Highness.

But what amazes me is her complete lack of arrogance. I know boykies from gym who act more main than she does. It’s probably scripted, but it felt special enough.

Charlize’s ears must have been burning as my girlfriend and I stood and discussed the Oscar winner with the Princess of Monaco.

Only in Benoni, my friends, only in Benoni.

I guess that’s the primary reason why Benoni is renowned for being one of the only places on earth where you don’t actually have to be famous to say “Do you know who I am?”

As I stood between these extremely beautiful examples of the female species, I got to thinking about love.

Love is complicated. It’s addictive and it’s intoxicating.

I am feeling it right now, as I type.

I met my girlfriend in 2010, and we’ve since blossomed into a fantastic relationship.

I regularly open her car door, and I even croak out three-chord love songs I scrawl down between emails.

Nothing quite like singing something you wrote yourself to your girlfriend – it shows you’re more than a booze-swilling, ball-kicking, crotch-scratching male.

The thing girls like best? Try stopping drinking.

It’s taken me a long time to figure out girls.

They are one of life’s most wonderful complications, that invariably leave you broke, heartbroken, happy, or all three.

Chicks love to meet real life princesses, but, since this is not always easily achievable, you could make her a rose out of duct tape instead. I made one for my girlfriend.

It’s the best damn flower she ever had; it never dies, it cost nothing and it reminds her that I love her every day.

Real flowers are for when you have to say sorry. Handmade flowers say “I love you”.

Too many flowers, though, and she might think you bat for the other team.

Now, love eventually means sex. And sex eventually means babies.

Now that I’m in my 30s, I’ve realised that most weekends brings forth either a baby shower or a 30th birthday. Since I don’t really drink, I find neither very appealing.

This is a pity, because my peers are popping out more babies than Benoni taxi drivers can stop illegally.

A knock-on effect of all these kids has given birth to one of the greatest perks of being a parent in your 30s – having a child to blame for your inability to stick to arrangements.

Or maybe you need to just need to swallow a spoon of cement and get on with it.