Ugh – and love comes knocking
I’m past trying to impress. Yes, I’ll wear my hippie pants on That Date and my green eyes will look fabulous over my doggie mask.
I’m going on a date this week. I think. He promised. No big deal if he doesn’t pitch – or pinpoint a place. Ugh. I’m lying. For me? Big. I’ve been no angel since Beloved died 10 years ago.
Ben Ten? I tried. Ugh. That stable man so many years older than me? Ugh. So I just gave up, really – until he came knocking because of my witty response somewhere. And we liked. Each other. More than that: I speak my mother tongue for the first time in a life time and songs pop up that I buried deep in my subconscious.
We share music – he loves Abba whom I hate – we share life; experiences; poetry; unlike Billie Joel, the clever conversation that I want. So I hint. I ask. I bully. But the “coffee” is not happening. And I hear: he is scared of me. Petrified, he tells me straight. I get it, this girl is a woman now. But why do men run scared of a woman who is… just her?
I’m past trying to impress. Yes, I’ll wear my hippie pants on That Date and my green eyes will look fabulous over my doggie mask. But after two weeks of talking you have a tiny part of my soul. I don’t care if you are fat, short, difficult, bipolar, suicidal or lonely – because we’ve listened to decade-old songs (and I’m talking Coldplay, not the bloody Seekers) together.
I understand you better. You should know me. We opened our minds. Spoke it. Already had our first (fight) – open for discussion but you really, really pissed me off. But this is my beauty: we get each other. You an advocate with your razor-sharp mind and me a journalist being an expert on any bloody subject.
You mention Ferdi Barnard, Calla Botha? I get it. I can quote ad nauseam off the top of my head. I’m an expert… So get over it. As I said to my daughter, I’m flowing with your black robes. We know what we’ve got. I listen to a Jason Miraz song – did I say music is just us? – and hear what a beautiful mess we are.
It’s like we’re picking up trash in dresses. And it kinda hurts… But here we are. My hope is on coffee. Not red wine. Have the guts to meet a real woman…
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