Of course there are women who met their soul mate in high school.

They fall in love, get married at age 21 and have four great kids. They are looking forward to celebrating a 50th wedding anniversary.

Others endured just one bad break-up before finding the one guy they wanted to share their lives with. The poster girls of true love. Congratulations to them.

Love is a great thing really. At the age of 35, I too will still consider marrying for love. The love of money, that is.

I, on the other hand, wouldn't change my rich history of spectacularly messing up relationships with great men for anything. Not even the parts where I dated a delinquent who stole my laptop. How would I even be able to dish out bad relationship advice without having experienced a calamitous courtship with a man who had an ex-wife, an estranged fiancée and teenage kids.

While society frowns upon it, I have discovered that a few good non-goal-directed sexcapades do wonders for one's emotional intelligence.

It's an open secret that married women harbour a silent disdain for single ladies. So, they eventually settle into pretentious alliances with the wives of their husband's best friends, leading to pecuniary competition over curtains, Tupperware and those damn AMC pots. It's as if the circles are designed purely for showing off the strength of the couple's relationship, and their financial muscle. Some even go as far as competing over whose children go to better schools. Even the conversations will be around fickle comparisons and desires aimed at peacocking.

As life would have it, even a cynic like myself is thrust into lifelong friendships with these favoured ladies who were born fully clad in wife material. Every time their wedding finger itches, they organise an intimate party for only couples and invite me to join them, and bring a partner. Yes, because what is a couple's gathering without the company of your one true serial dater friend with no prospects of marriage!

It's 2017 and long-term relationships last no more than six months. Then the missus invites me to a braai, a mere two months after the anniversary dinner where they met a certain Thabo. Of course Thabo won their hearts with his humour and all the public displays of affection. He shared his insights on politics and had fun comparing car engine performances with the guys. He features in some of the photos of the event now. But I dumped him three weeks later, because our relationship wasn't really a party and his and my engines were not compatible.

So the missus says ".oh, and it'll be couples again, we'll arrange someone for all the kids. Where's that Thabo guy? The guys really got along well last time."

Whoa! Hold it right there! How the hell am I supposed to know where Thabo is?

This is the problem with these women. They do not want to grasp the fact that the position of "boyfriend/partner" is a sensitive vacancy, and occupancy tends to rotate more often than President Jacob Zuma's cabinet.

So, I will bring Sbusiso and the guys will meet him and love him too. And next year, when it's my birthday and I invite them, they may find I have no companion.

Or maybe by then I would have stumbled upon the love of my life (or money), whichever, and committed. Till then, I cannot be pressured to sustain an ailing relationship for the sake of public appearances.

Honestly, if people are not ready to accept that the names and faces of our partners change every now and again, then they should just leave us single people out of their couples' parades.