Goeie môre, Suid Afrika!
Truth be told.
Sure, I may have a wild imagination…
But I literally can’t make this shit up.
Whatsapp on my ‘new’ old phone version 2.0.
(Side note: I adore minimal effort in a whatsapp. And such usually denotes the sex as “Male.” Close quotation marks.)
Me: Hey. Sorry. New phone. Who is this?
Anonymous: Let’s see if you can figure it out. *wink face* (or Dick Face. You decide.)
(Immediately I know by the vague self preening antics and the whatsapp profile I can barely make out that is usually about why Geminis need both intellect and passion in a lover… distance and independence but crave intimacy… Blah Blah… Blerry blah. Look, I was reading Linda Goodman’s Sunsigns weaving in intertextual references to Alice in Wonderland at age 7. So spare me one*quote*wonder*Mr.Fuckinmying astrology bs to justify your inadequacies. But I digress…)
Me: Uh, listen. A little old for games. (Not really. I adore games. Like uh, Jenga. But I’m having my own brand of fun here. P. P. P. Poker Face n all. So indulge me if you would be so kind.)
Anonymous (who I now know… Full Well): Quote on quote “an ex flame” (Insert devil face or some shite emoticon. I’m smitten. Of course. On the bookshelf… My battered Collins Dictionary with an entire page on How To with emoticons using ye olde punctuation marks; build your own like Rome in a nano second, from Santa of the North Pole himself to Marge – legend – Simpson to frigging Jim Carrey! So apply some FRIGGING imagination, mense!)
Me: Well, I have a boyfriend (sidebar to intelligent reader: could mean “cat”….) so I don’t know so much about flames.
“X Flame” eventually offers name. One word. (Again thanks for the effort, Men.) A name. “Xyz.” (Insert name of any Dick Face you’ve ever known. Ciao Bello!)
Then X Flame asks how I am. (Oh how I wish it was a whatsapp from prof. X. Or Malcolm X. Alas. A lack.)
(Like a dumb ass I assume compassion and give him a chance to be a Better Man, offering a sincere heartfelt answer about my 4 weeks in the worst psychiatric ward I’ve yet encountered. Basically what hell on earth is in my innermost fears. I just didn’t know it yet. My nightmares usually involve steep hills, snakes or laughing gnomes. They all seem kinda cool now. Things considered. Then…. Fatal error.)
Me: And how are you?
(Ladies, I present you with…)
Registered Gemini/ X Flame: Been super busy with work and hitting the gym and stuff. So hectic.
(Briefly I remember the joke. A tick jumping over a fence. Hek Tick. I smile. Fond times.)
Me: Cool. Four weeks in the psychiatric cage to my rage fighting off cruel security and protecting fellow inmates from severe en-masse beatings by Savages. My defence for them… Rage. White. Hot. Fury. Like a coal from the pits of the Inferno. Or the lost lit cigarette you don’t wana know… That. And throwing every journalist credential you got and screaming that Steve Biko is rolling over in his grave at the injustice… That voodoo works too. Still… oh so still… Knowing all the while your punishment awaits shortly after. A trank dart in the arse while said se-screwUirty laugh at your “umlungu” butt cheeks and restraints. Tough a lil later on the bladder that just drank 1 litre of water. But no matter. When security ain’t looking I’m a boss at slowly undoing the knots with my bare pearly whites since they won’t untie me to pee and I’ve outgrown bed wetting and sleeping in my own urine. It’s not unlike how you eat an elephant. One bite at a time. So uh. Yeah. Harder than any Gymn sesh. I assure you. But good luck with that. (Of course I simplified all this realising I’m dealing with a short attention span). And… Block.
(And then, Dear Reader, she blocked his ass. No offense to donkeys. And if you’re reading this, X Flame. Spend less time on pop psychology and chewing the fat with the small dicks at the gym. Grow a pair. And maybe we’ll hang out one day in Back to the Future XXX: Y’All Never Cease to Blow My Goddamn Mind, the prequel.)
(Postscript. To all the X Flames who have become nameless and faceless in my hours only to resemble lost souls in melting walls ala The Scream… please do. Please do mention “friend-zoning” or whine like lilac wine but not nearly as beautifully about your tragic singledom. It’s all misogynist crap I don’t need now. So consider this humble post a gentle Achtung, Baby! Love the girl who (literally) gave zero fucks.