If, unlike me, you do not have daughters, you might think the issue of "sugar daddies" is quite funny.
It is not.
Years back I listened to a brekgat explaining to his mates why it is advisable to date little girls as opposed to mature women.
Young girls, he said, were easy to satisfy. "Just slap her with a Chomp, cheese curls and R12 airtime, and you're her king. On her birthday or Valentine's hit her with a Taxi Two and you've finished her."
One of his mates butted in: "These old things (read ladies) will bewitch you."
These were men old enough to be grandfathers. I was not too surprised, though. When a Timer in his 40s and 50s plays loud kwaito in his car and drives with his seat almost fully reclined, you can't expect much between his ears.
And this was the type. Baggy jeans, oversized shirt sleeves, cap worn the wrong way round, abnormally long, pointed shoes that look like toy trucks ... you get the picture.
The discussion meant nothing to me until I replayed it in my mind the other day and realised that I am a potential killer: let any man my age touch any of my girls and ...
In fact, I was reminded of the boymen by a little girl, barely in her teens, standing in front of me in a supermarket cashier's queue. When I was her age I would have been lashed quite badly for even uttering the word "girlfriend".
But times have changed. She and her friend, who was not much older, weren't bothered if anyone else heard their conversation.
The tiny girl went on about how she had told off an "ou" who wanted to offer her a ride in his cheapo of a car.
"You know, chommie, I looked at this thing (car) and said sorry, this is dangerous. You have no airbags.
"He just could not believe it, but I refused to climb in. Me in a Tazz, on a weekend?!"
I thought I had heard it all, but then she rambled on about how she eventually landed up at a popular jazz tavern, ostensibly in a much bigger, more expensive car and how her "date" had plied her with lavish amounts of expensive cider.
A quick mental exercise told me anyone who drove a car decent enough (with airbags) to impress this little miss, and proceed to spoil her with lots of booze, can't be a teenager himself.
He must have been working (or stealing) for quite a while and must be, at the very least, a sugar daddy.
I couldn't get the rest of her adventure, but I had goose bumps on my arms.
She started softly humming a tuneless ditty and danced a little, casting her eyes around to see if she was impressing anyone.
In no time she and her friend had paid and were leaving the shop.
All the cashier could say was: "Eish, bana ba rona!" (Our children!)