Sunday, 18 November 2012

'til morning comes, let's tessellate

I was one of the boys. We had "Who could talk to the most people"-competitions and "jis that one is hot"-sightings. I saw myself as part of the crew, not an object for conquest. Later I wanted to leave, let them have their fun, sans moi. One offered to walk me to my car, but since it was literally parked in front of Arcade I saw no need. He came with nonetheless. While I unlocked and in my mind planned to give an awkward hug goodbye, Monsieur asks: "So, wil jy vry?" ("Do you want to make out?"). I politely declined, mumbling something about "not tonight, thank you", and leaving without awkward hugging. This asking for a gevryery was bad enough.


We went to school together. I was a year ahead, but not a year older. A mutual liking for Alexisonfire and Acid Alex was all we had in common. Now, I see you occasionally on campus, all black skinnies and black T-shirts and black chucks and a moustache too neatly trimmed. Hello, how you doing, well, ah, ok, I've got class, ok bye. 

Then at the place after a few drinks, my friends abandoned me and I had to listen to you talk about your perfect ex-girlfriend who dumped your ass a year ago. My advice to "man the fuck up" was met with: "You are such a bitch. But it works. Why did we never hook up?". Goeie genade. Because short men who only wear black don't do it for me. And because I am far from perfect. 


We were sitting outside. I knew you from class, but not really. You asked, and I did not object. Maybe it is not the question, but the person asking. 

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