By SB Mukalo
Nothing quite prepares you for a blind date. The night is cold but your body is warm from the excitement of anticipation. You pace back and forth like a caged beast in your cluttered room, a spring in your step, your mind teeming with strategy and potential scenarios. You smile goofily like a farmer who ,after a lengthy and devastating dry spell, now sees the hope of rainfall in the nimbus clouds scudding above.
In the excitement roasting your balls, you try to cram some punchlines from Stephanie Meyers best-selling romantic thriller “Breaking Dawn”. The crisply-pressed suit on your bed that you borrowed from a friend and the cheap cologne next to you give you satisfaction. Tomorrow you must make an impression. Before you retire to bed, you descend on your knees and implore the Almighty to shepherd you through what promises to be a remarkable phase in your unremarkable life. You pray for confidence because you need it more than the rush of blood inflating your balls.
The following morning as the golden spears of the rising sun gracefully filter through your unwashed curtains, your Samsung E 222 chirps, signalling the arrival of a text message. It’s your prospective date’s message. She won’t make it because she has suffered a sudden menstrual twinge. The message goes further to explain that her menstrual cycles are sudden and errant. She implores your understanding and wishes you a good day.
Dark forces have conspired yet again to scorch your romantic prospects. A bewildering array of emotions; anger, hatred and disappointment, course through your veins. Your balls deflate badly. In a fit of petulance, you throw tantrums. You know she’s lying but there’s nothing you can do. You’ve got used to those tired and yawning lies of “sudden menstrual twinges”. “The devil wears underwear.” You yell in frustration.