Thursday, 10 January 2008
A Word to the Wise
If there's one thing on Earth I hate having it's girl trouble. I hate it, I hate it, I really do! When you're twenty girl trouble isn't as serious as your dad divorcing your mom after fourty years of marriage and ten kids. Girl trouble in your twenties is a mean, petty and selfish affair. Take for instance my plan that seemed brilliant a month ago, the sort of thing Aristotle would think of, but which seems idiotic in hindsight. Here's the score: I'm in love with this cute blonde whose hair looks like Aslan's mane as it's described in the Narnia books. But I wasn't going to see her for two months as she was planning to spend her varsity holidays in the Freestate. (Some free advice; don't bother falling in love with people just before the holidays, especially of they plan to go spend an aweful long time in another province). My ex-girl (whose hair doesn't vaguely resemble any talking beast's mane as it's described in any series of books I've read) came up from Cape town to Jozi for the silly season and my not-so-brilliant plan was to have a fling with The Ex till the end of the holidays when she has to go back to Cape Town. By then my cute blonde would be back from frolicking on the farms of the Freestate and I would be free to romance her as I please. Now for most guys there's nothing wrong with this plan, it's just that I had to go and be born different. The crazy thing with me is my strange mental design. I'm the sort of person who if he feels nothing but sticks for a girl gets no pleasure from normally enjoyable activities like snogging on her mother's prized leather couch while her dad's in the next room reading the paper. For me dating The Ex turned out to be quite a chore, it was like having to wake up at four in the morning and going for a jog. I had to hold her hand when we went to the movies, hug her every two hours or so, and mumble a few incomprehensible words every time she mentioned the word love . I felt no passionate spark when I kissed her, not even the rush of adrenaline romance novels promise you. I would have been better off staying at home and staring into space. The Ex seemed oblivious to my plight, she was high on squishy emotions and enjoying the rush. All of the things about the relationship that seemed bland to me were tons of fun for her. This made me feel like a real scoundrel, especially after reading C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce where he touches on the evils of the sort of pity that "cheats girls out of their virginity" and in my case prevented me from setting things straight with The Ex and telling her that I'm not into her that way and I'm sorry for wasting her time. If you're anything like me, that being: a) you inherited unique genes from your grandparents, b) your parents had a method of raising you that can only be described as eccentric at best, and c) you went to the sort of high school where you learned to respect (by which you actually meant 'worship') girls, then please just do yourself a favour and rather put all your effort into pursuing your cute blonde girl whose hair looks like Aslan's mane as it's described in the Narnia books.