Play far from the mourning
Oh no, walls should speak. We have been duped into thinking that steady couples are happy couples and after my last encounter with a con artist, I know that nothing could be further from the truth. Let me also add that some, even most, couples are happy together otherwise they wouldn't stick it out for five years. But for some, life is a lie and love is just as elusive.
A neighbourhood bloke who saw me carrying my own groceries with my own bare hands came to the rescue. Manual labour has been the order of the day since my ex's departure. Damn, I didn't realise how much that man did around the house. All I ever saw was a chap who watched television and scratched his balls for a living. It's amazing how much we don't know what we have till it's gone.
So my knight from my block came to relieve me of the heavy stuff and to promptly ask what I had done with my ex. Very nosy, I know, but relief has a way of extracting confessions. And then within seconds he was trying to move in, asking if I'd have a problem with that. Some people just don't give a damn, do they? Ever heard of rebound? Clearly not.
But it's not just loving on rebound that I'm on about today. It's also about why people should play away from mourning people. Lately I've been feeling a bit bruised, and loving someone seems like the most selfish thing people can ask of me. Resilience is for younger hearts, I suppose. Yet, I can't close doors on future possibilities. But whenever I tell people of my state of mind they seem to bring the solution of moving on, not me moving away from it all to think, eat and pray. No, they want me to go drinking and kissing and inevitably breaking hearts of the innocent.
I'm fine with such people. It's the suitors who walk in like sheep to the slaughter that I want to knock some sense into. When a woman asks: "Can we just be friends?" Don't sulk and walk away. She just needs a friend not a disposable toy, something you are bound to become if you decide to tread where angels fear to.
But my new suitor, having never heard of pissed off old things like myself, thought he could sweep me off my feet and dangled his credit card for my taking. Great advantage, the credit card is, I must say. So like any straight thinking woman, of course I jumped for that card like a cat to a mouse.
And for a long time, the fact that he stays with someone didn't occur. No, honestly it did occur, but, like I said, a bleeding heart sheds no tears for the ignorant. I wasn't going to worry about her. She had had her fair takes on the credit card and besides, I'm sure there are more cards in that house to go around. It's not as if I wanted to sleep with that tweet anyway. So I indulged in that limo-like Benz and went to places I have always seen from the outside only. I went, I saw, I bought and before long I felt like my old self again, minus the selfish streak of course.
But when it was time to sit and eat with him, things hit a very sour note. I have never seen such lack of dining etiquette. I've often felt like a little Mshoza in most previous instances, but this guy made me feel like the queen of England. Damn it, some people know nothing about social courtesy, do they?