We are a generation of spoils and relationships are no exception. It also seems we are suckers for punishment.
How else can you explain running after someone who has made it crystal clear that he/she doesn't want anything to do with you?
I have watched them, foolish men who roll out the red carpet for good-for-nothing females who are happier playing fah fee than being an honest woman.
They say fish tastes better when you've caught it yourself - but I think they mean seafood. In the light of this, then, I beg to differ. Prawns are far classier and worth more energy than, say, hake.
But try and reason with someone in love and they will tell you tastes vary. And while we are busy chasing our own tails it seems something sneaky and surreal happens.
You finally get the six numbers right and have your perfect match thrown at you. Asked to elaborate on why he/she is the one, we get tongue tied. The thing is, there can be no reason other than chemistry.
You just go with the magnitude of passion - end of story.
And while you might worry: Will it last? Will she catch the first flight back to Durban next week? Will he go back to that Xhosa cow? Life, with a smirk, just rolls on by and The One sticks around, making you the happiest person in the world.
You are after all one of God's loved children, not a stepchild, you realise. Phew, finally. And then a selfish streak strikes. Is this now the big forever?
Yes, just like everyone, you will have to put on the brakes, give up the race and join the forever group. How scary.
Imagine knowing that you will be held accountable for actions that are not necessarily wrong, but have the wrong effect on The One.
I used to throw parties like they were going out of fashion. Nothing wrong with that. My friends used to buzz me just because they were in the neighbourhood. Nothing wrong with that. And I used to go home and sleep over because my mom loves me more now that I left my siblings to show their true colours. Nothing wrong with that. But these days, things are slightly different. I have to consult and the mere thought is kinda sickening.
The other day, I watched our partners with sympathy as they sang happy birthday for my relentless six-year-old. The men wanted to watch Bafana Bafana being kicked in the ass by the Super Eagles.
What a shame. Not Bafana Bafana, but our men being expected to help the little ones sing that tired old song when their spirits and eyes were in the lounge. They did it for the wives and girlfriends who would have kicked them into the doghouse had they not obliged.
The thing about being in a long-haul relationship is that most of the time it can be downright predictable and boring. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
This is when you start wondering: did I spend all my life looking for this? Sure I would choose him again but do we have to be robots before night time? Oh, but then consider the heartache of being out there on your own. I'll say it again: relationships are a cushion against life's blows.
So after the ball-seizing by Nigeria, the boys came to check out the Barbies their wives had bought with their credit cards. They were happy to sing again and you could tell they were licking their wounds when it was time for ice-cream. The things we do to our men and then turn around and ask them to be 'real' men!
Yet when they hovered around the braai with legs that are not shorts-worthy, we all conceded we can't live without them. And then, as if to confirm this notion, some loser dared to lay his hands on his flirty madam and the boys left the meat unattended and tried to lay their hands on his frail body.
The girls had to take over and make a success of a braai we had been told was men's turf.
When they gobbled it, washing it down with beers, no one asked how we got the meat so tender and lekker. Ah, the spoils. I wouldn't have it any other way.