Catch and Release!

I recently rediscovered basketball. I used to play, back in high school. I was on my school team. Volleyball had been my intended target when I’d gone for tryouts, but after picking up and passing a stray ball that had made its way to the Volleyball court, I got hooked. Basketball became my first love where sports was concerned. Despite not quite having the height for it, I learned to hold my own on the court and soon got quite good at it.

That didn’t keep me from playing Volleyball though. And football and badminton. I loved the outdoors and most outdoor sports, still do. Actually, I’d rather participate than watch a game though. Not that I find it boring. I like watching the players, the way they make the game look effortless, their skills and talents on the court or wherever the game is being played, whatever game it is. But the thing is most times, say 7 out of 10 times, when it comes to sitting down to watch maybe a football match or a basketball game, the ADD I was never born with kicks in. It takes will power for me to sit through an entire match without fidgeting. It’s like sitting through maths class, its only interesting when your best friend is sitting right next to you, distracting you when the teacher isn’t looking. I can successfully sit through a game but only if I can play word games or Candy Crush on my tablet at the same time. Those are my distracting best friends in this case.

A hectic college schedule did not afford me time to play as much basketball or Volleyball as I would have loved. I did get to play Volleyball for my platoon during my 3 week NYSC orientation camp in Benue state, the only highpoint of my time in camp.

Enter 9-5 job. Doing any form of exercise on a daily basis feels like a tedious bore and a punishment. Going to the gym was starting to look more and more like the way forward. That was when a friend of mine told me about a basketball court she goes to play most Saturdays. I was thrilled. After all this time I could play ball again. It sounded like a fun way to get a good workout.  So, after months of procrastination, one cool Saturday morning in January, I decide to head down to the court to get my game on.

I can never forget my initial reaction when I stepped on the court that morning. I almost froze and turned back. Not that there was anything shocking about seeing guys play basketball, I had just never been in the midst of so many sweaty, half dressed guys in one place at once. The court was crawling with them, different shapes and sizes. Fat men, tall men, muscular men, skinny men, men whose boobs had boobs, grey haired men, toned and buffed up men, men with tripod pot shaped bellies etc. And in the midst of all that testosterone was my dear friend waving me over. I hadn’t thought to ask her if there were other females who also played. It didn’t take long to find out I would be the only other girl asides her to play on that court.

When it was time to play, complete klutz was an understated way to describe my performance. I was beyond rusty from years of not playing, coupled with the fact that these guys played real good and were freaking intimidating. I spent more time trying to stay out of their way than I did actually playing ball. By the time that set was over, one side of my face was smarting cos my teammate had accidently smacked or elbowed my cheek. I would be sore for days. I didn’t bother waiting to play another set. I knew if I were ever to set foot on that court again it would get a lot worse for me before it got any easier. I knew more often than not I would be the only girl on the court. That was ok. But I would be the only 5ft3 girl hustling for basketball in the midst of 9 towering guys. Goodness! What did I get myself into!

That was 4 months ago. Several Saturdays and tutorials later, they could safely tolerate having me on the court. The little rat they indulged just because. Believe me; I do not mind that at all. It’s been tons of fun and the guys really aren’t that bad. But even so, I still walk to the court most Saturday mornings with butterflies playing basketball in my belly, hoping with all my heart I would suck less than I did the Saturday before. It’s not that I don’t play well enough, but when you’re the only girl on the court, even if the guys make worse calls than you do, yours is still more pronounced just because your gender is foreign to theirs. Some of the guys cut me some slack, while others subtly get in my face about it. Big deal. I’m here to stay and play and I pay same as you, so deal with it.

The guys are from different works of life and all come to ball for the same reason as me; they love the game and it’s a fun way to workout.

But that’s not the only reason I keep going back. You see, before actually experiencing a basketball game live on the court, I had no idea how testosterone, adrenaline, and polar personalities made such a dramatic explosion when mixed together. When this happens I just sit back and enjoy the live entertainment that takes place. Boys will be boys. Only now their grammar is older and experienced. When they get into it, squabbling loudly and vigorously over an overly ambitious player or a ref’s bad call, their veins standing at attention, completely disrupting the game, it really is a sight to see. We’re here to enjoy the game and have a good time. Obviously, it’s an easily forgotten fact. When grown men become screaming little boys, me and my little self sit back and enjoy the show. That’s one of the highpoints of my morning on the court. The other is when I make a basket, which sadly, doesn’t happen very often. Being the smallest female on the court I’m a very easy target. Consequently, when the ball lands in my hands, the opposing team rush me like wildfire on dry brush. So, now I don’t get the ball as much. Intend to rectify that.

My friend, queenie, has played with the guys long enough to master the art of playing aggressively. What you lack in height and gender on the court, you make up for in aggression. Lol. Works all the time. Even some of the guys tell me to watch her play and learn to be as aggressive. I don’t have a single aggressive bone in my body, I bruise easily AND I trip on my own feet sometimes. I’m sure learning to be aggressive should be a walk in the park.

Despite all these shortcomings and other hindrances, I love the game and I love to play. I have successfully given up sleeping in on Saturdays like most normal 9-5 workers.  I wake up 5am every Saturday morning just so I can make the first set. I bear every fall and bruise happily so long as I can keep playing. (Once caught a ball with my face cos the sun was in my eye, hurt like hell) It’s fun. It’s free. It’s my release.

Clueless Bride…

“It’s a beautiful night; we’re looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby! I think I wanna marry you…!”

Tori hummed to herself as she admired her engagement ring. Dapo had finally made it official. It had been a long time coming. Given, it wasn’t the ring she’d expected him to get her after the countless number of ring pictures she’d sent him as hints as to the type of ring she had wanted. Tori was a closet romantic and rather old fashioned at heart but the last thing she wanted was a boring old fashioned ring.

However, the ring Dapo had proposed with was THE perfect engagement ring for Tori, and even after five months of constantly admiring it, the novelty still hadn’t worn off.

“Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice? Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you.”

Tori continued to hum along to the Bruno Mars song playing on her phone. It was a hot Friday night and she couldn’t get to sleep. She took a pen from her bedside table, opened the big leather bound 2013 diary she kept under her pillow and wrote ‘Marry You by Bruno Mars’ under an underlined heading that read ‘Song List’. She had been trying to compile a list of songs she wanted the DJ to play at the wedding. So far, she had only written down ‘No One Else Comes Close by Joe’ and ‘Tonight (Best You Ever Had) by John Legend’. She was a huge John Legend fan. She still had a long way to go. Her old soul was clamouring for some old school blues. She just had to find the right selection for the reception party, find a way to merge some contemporary hits into the mix.

Five months had passed since the proposal and the wedding was still some six months away. Tori felt she still had plenty of time on her hands and had not started making any plans whatsoever. Apart from the meager song list and the wedding date she’d marked in the diary’s calendar, the thing was practically empty. Tori had never been one of those little girls who dreamt about their wedding day as kids. She had always been sincerely awed by some of the beautiful and fancy weddings she had attended but when it came to picturing her own wedding, all she could see was her and her groom dancing. She had never been able to picture the wedding itself, not even her own wedding gown.

Consequently, when it came to drawing up a plan for the wedding, Tori had no idea where to start. Her first thought had been to look for a bridal shop online and just order a dress, matching shoes and the other knick knacks. Left to her, she didn’t mind eloping with Dapo just to avoid the whole ceremony. All she wanted to do was say “I Do” and dance the night away in Dapo’s arms. But they had both decided not to be selfish about their union and include their family and close friends.

The original plan had been to do the traditional bit with just the immediate family in attendance. Tori had never been one for big weddings. She visibly recoiled at the thought of having the huge circus that now passes for weddings in Nigeria these days, where the couple are nothing but pretty party figureheads to be admired on the high table, like decorations on a cake. Their own reception party would be small and intimate, and strictly by invitation. The wedding day was meant to be a celebration OF the couple, not a celebration FOR the couple; and Tori intended it to be just that. Sadly, Tori’s biggest headache about all of this was that where planning a wedding was concerned she was as clueless as they come.

Tori looked down at the diary in her lap and tried to recall a few details she had noticed from past weddings she had attended, including the ones she had been involved in as one of the bridesmaids…

Bridesmaids!! Of course, there were bridesmaids in weddings! But on a second thought, she didn’t really feel the need for “extras” as she liked to call them. She had already given the role of Maid of Honor to her capable best friend Nora, and she was good with just one.

What to wear? Hmm….she put a pin in that for now. Each time she thought about it she still had no clue.

Colours? That seemed easy enough. Just pick some two colours and that’s that.

Catering? She’d have to come back to that.

Decorations? What’s the venue gonna look like? She had no idea!

What else…..Blank…..Blank…..Blank!!!

Tori took a deep calming breathe and shut the diary. The wedding details would just have to sort themselves out eventually. She had been drawing blanks from the minute the news of the engagement was announced to both families. She had also been fielding question after question about the wedding and she still had not been able to manage more than an absentminded head-shake or a blank stare. The internet wasn’t much help either. The first step would be to know just what she wanted and didn’t want for the wedding, and that was exactly what she was yet to figure out. She just could not decide.

Now that she was the one in the centre of it all, everything took on a whole new meaning for her. It was her wedding so she was meant to have all the answers. Tori was overwhelmed beyond words but she was also quick to realize that she needed to have these answers and she needed them fast, or she would be at risk of becoming just another decoration at her wedding if decisions had to be made for her.

As Tori sat on her bed thinking of what to do, the music playing on her phone was cut off as the phone started to ring. It was Nora. Relief washed over her as she answered the phone. But even before she could say a word, Nora’s voice came over the line…

“You silly, silly child! Just because the wedding is still a while away does not mean you should sit and fold your arms. You can’t afford to start making rushed preparations 4 weeks to the wedding. And you being a clueless klutz is no excuse. As cute as I may find it sometimes, now is definitely not one of those times. Now listen very carefully. I want you at my house first thing tomorrow morning. As a matter of fact, I want you to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes. Lord knows you’re in dire need of Clueless Bride 101 lessons, so you better come prepared. One more thing Tori, I don’t want any excuses about not being able to make it and you had better not stand me up!” And with that Nora ended the call.

Tori stared at the phone in her hand, a bemused look on her face. Dear Nora! She was definitely a force of nature. They had become best buds shortly after they met in college. It was love at first sight. Now she was like the sister Tori never had. That and her impeccable organizational skills was why Tori had mandated her to be her Maid of Honor  She needed someone to keep her on her toes and smack her upside the head if need be whenever she started to go lax or panicky while planning the wedding.

Now that Nora was about to jump start the process, Tori was finally able to focus on what she wanted for the reception party. She thought about her song list and then it hit her. A Theme Wedding! Now Theme Weddings were not a popular trend in Nigeria, given the different complexities involved in the ceremony depending on the couples’ religious and/or ethnic backgrounds. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a theme reception. There was nothing wrong with spicing it up a bit, something fun and different. Not the usual come chop wedding reception with guests wondering when the polite time to make an exit is. She could have a 60s theme, with everyone in dated costumes. Maybe even include a bit of Karaoke. Guests would be invited to serenade the bride and groom with silly old love songs….yup, that did sound different and fun!

It was all starting to come together quite nicely in her head.

As Tori lay down to sleep that night, after returning the diary to its place under her pillow, she couldn’t help but smile. Clueless or not, she might still be able to plan a bad-ass wedding after all…

Everybody’s Free!!!

This is the most prized piece I’m ever gonna post. It’s my ultimate pick me up whenever I’m feeling blue. I was actually sitting at my desk “feeling blue” so to speak when the song started playing on my Windows Media Player Playlist, and it literally inspired me to put up this post. It’s the lyrics to Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free [To Wear Sunscreen]” track! I found out that the lyrics were taken from a famous essay — written in 1997 by Mary Schmich, a columnist with the Chicago Tribune — which gives some amazing advice for life.

The song is more like an awesome collection of funny and witty yet original and down-to-earth advises or home truths you’ll ever find anywhere, and it speaks to everyone, no matter your age, life experience or station in life. I’m sharing it in the hopes that it lightens your spirits whenever you read it, whatever you may be going through. And don’t forget to share with your friends and loved ones Do enjoy!

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering experience…I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh never mind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine.

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindsides you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes
you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with
yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you
succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters; throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your
life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40-year-
olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own..

Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents; you never know when they’ll be gone for
good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live
in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will
philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize
that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were
noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one
might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you’re 40, it will
look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen…

Living Your Resolutions!

Over the years, I’ve become increasingly averse to making New Year’s Resolutions. It used to be that making new year’s resolutions was kinda like getting a do-over, a chance for new beginnings on a fresh slate, to do things better or differently. The truth is, in most cases it’s just another self made set up for a disastrous fall. Let’s be honest, new year’s resolutions tend to suck. And the only do-over you’ll get out of it is to discover yet another way to royally suck at sticking to your resolutions.

If you chip away the sentiments attached to the “New Year”, you’ll see that it’s just another 24 hours from the previous year, a change in the last digit of the year from 1 to 2 or from 9 to 0, a flip of a digital calendar. The same 24 hours that separates December 31^st from January 1^st separates a balling Saturday from a hangover Sunday. It’s just plain ridiculous to attach so much meaning to a number based solely on sentiments.

I mean you don’t have to wait for a new year to create time to that dance class you’ve always wanted to take, to treat yourself to that new PlayStation or get that Power-bike you’ve been dreaming of, to learn a new language or broaden your horizon more, to travel, to go bungee jumping and shit your pants or go sky diving and puke your guts out, to find love or give love, to give up a vice or pick up a hobby, to get in better shape whether by dropping or putting on a few pounds, to a better friend, daughter or son to your parents or a better example to your kids.

You don’t wait for a new year to start living, to start your own new beginnings. Life won’t wait a New Year for you, and I’ll bet my dimples the grim reaper won’t wait a New Year either. There’s plenty truth to the saying “Live each day like it were your last”; You never know, it just might be.

The First Time…

“Do you want it fast or slow? Should I go fast or slow?” Tamuno panted in Alice’s face as his thrusts gradually picked up a rhythm. He looked anxiously into her eyes trying to gauge her reaction, waiting for her response. It was the second time they had decided to try having sex and the first time they had actually gone through with it. She was just as anxious as he was and had no idea how to answer his question.

They had only met a couple of months earlier through a mutual friend and his attraction to her had been instantaneous. He couldn’t explain what it was exactly, only that he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was unlike any woman he had ever met before. Being around her made him feel at peace on the inside, like he had not a single care in the world. He felt like he was where he should be and nothing else mattered. It was like nothing he had ever felt before and he craved that feeling like a man lost at sea craved dry land. It took a while for Alice to notice that Tamuno’s interest in her went beyond mere friendship. He did not give anything away at first though. He chose to just remain friends with her while getting to know her better.

Alice liked Tamuno from the get go and always looked forward to their chance meetings. But she remained doubtful about him ever being interested in someone like her. They were as polar opposite as could be. Tamuno was a good looking, well spoken, and intelligent guy. He was uber friendly and had an easy disarming charm about him which drew people to him. He had a way of making anyone around him feel at ease, whether young or old. And, not surprisingly, he was always the life of the party.

Alice was not as “lively”. She was a pretty, nice enough girl, well-mannered and very intelligent. Nerdy bookworm that she was, she was also charming in her own way. But party girl she was not. She preferred the company of her books to any of her friends most of the time. So when she became aware of Tamuno’s interest, Alice found it a bit difficult to accept that he could genuinely feel that strongly for her. They had very little to nothing in common. Being the near-recluse that she was, she had only ever dated a few times in the past but none of them were as eclectic in persona as Tamuno.

Nevertheless, she eventually came around. She just could not resist his pull. It was in the way he looked at her. She could see it as clearly as day. His feelings for her ran deep. He made her feel like she was his centre of gravity and his world revolved around her. And the first time they kissed, it was electric. She finally understood what it meant to go weak in the knees. Theirs was a firework of chemistry, and Alice felt like her wandering spirit had finally found an anchor. She had it bad for Tamuno and she knew it.

All of these flashed through Alice’s mind as she looked up into Tamuno’s face hovering over hers, waiting for her to answer his question.

When she said nothing, Tamuno decided to go slow, filling her up with each deep thrust. He had never been inside any woman as tight as she was and it was almost tipping him over the edge. It took every ounce of will power he could muster to keep him from roughly pinning her down and just letting loose. He cared for her deeply and did not want to do anything to scare her off. So he bit down on his lower lip and kept the agonizingly slow but sweet pace of their lovemaking.

When he could not hold back any longer. Tamuno lifted Alice off the bed and unto the single sofa in the bedroom. He knelt on the floor and held her legs apart to better penetrate into her sweet wetness. Alice was overcome with sensations the like she had never felt before. She tried to match him thrust for thrust as his rhythm gradually picked up in tempo. She needed him not to find her inadequate or lacking. His regular grunts and occasional moans were like music to her ears. And at intervals he would call out her name. Each time he did that she felt on top of the world.

Tamuno was delirious with pleasure as he flexed his hips back and forth, pumping in and out of Alice. She was sweeter than a freshly plucked comb of honey, yielding to his every touch. He needed to please her just as much, to make their first time together as memorable as possible.

Tamuno was close to losing control now. She was giving it to him just as good as he was. She was so tight she was squeezing him with each thrust. He swiftly moved her back to the bed, still inside her, while Alice wrapped her legs around his waist. She whimpered softly as he thrust harder & deeper still, nearing his climax, and that sound alone was his undoing.

Tamuno was panting furiously as he shouted Alice’s name and almost blacked out as he came powerfully, his hips flexing involuntarily. Gradually, his breathing eased up and he opened his eyes. He stared into Alice’s beautiful face, sated and happy. He kissed her forehead.

Alice smiled shyly as Tamuno kissed her forehead. The entire experience had left her tingling all over and completely overwhelmed. She had not known what to expect, being her first time. Everything she knew about sex she had picked up from books she had read or films she’d seen. Yes, she didn’t get the infamous “earth-shattering” orgasm she had read about, but it was okay. She had enjoyed every bit of their lovemaking more because it was an experience shared with Tamuno. He had been a sweet, gentle, and attentive lover, and had made certain she would never forget her first time.

Goodbye My Love…

It had been 12 years since Labake’s uncle’s death but to her the memory of that day was still as fresh and vivid as if it were only yesterday. It was the first time she had ever felt like her world had bottomed out and she was free falling into a black hole. Every now and then she would imagine seeing his face in a crowd. He had been her first love and she his favourite girl, and the bond they shared had been a special one.

As Labake sat at her dressing table with tears pooling in her eyes, staring at the picture she held in her hands, her mind took a trip down memory lane to that unfortunate day she would never forget. The day her first love became her first loss….

Labake was startled awake by the sound of a woman’s heart wrenching wail coming from somewhere nearby. It was a cool Saturday morning. The ceiling fan directly atop her bed was rotating lazily, helped along by the cool breeze coming in from the window in her bedroom. The electricity had been shut off during the night as is usually the case in her area. She had slept soundly for the first time in days, the illness that had weighed her down starting to abate.

She sat up in bed rubbing her eyes in a bid to shake off the lingering cobwebs of sleep, and strained her ears to listen out for the sound that had woke her up. When all remained quiet she thought it was probably a figment of her imagination.

Just as she was about to settle back under the covers, she heard footsteps at her bedroom door and her younger brother burst in with Kike, their house-help, in tow.

“Uncle Segun is dead! Uncle Segun is dead! Mummy just got the news!” he yelled. At first she couldn’t make out what he was as the words had rolled out of him in one breath. Ten seconds later it all made sense.

Labake slowly sat upright and stared off into space while the two youngsters continued to look intently at her, waiting for her reaction. But when nothing came they left her alone. They were too young to comprehend what had just happened and there was no way they would possibly understand what she was feeling had she tried to explain.

Though wise beyond her years, at 13, Labake had never been directly touched by death before. She knew of people who had lost loved ones and how sad and dejected they had been.  And each time, although she had empathized deeply, but she had not been able to relate to what they were going through. She could only try to imagine what it was like but could not successfully feel the pain they felt. This always left her at a loss for the right words to say on such occasions. Like watching a street carnival from a balcony, it’s never the same as being in the mix as one of the handsomely decked out participants. But now she was front and centre and the pain was overwhelming beyond words.

As Labake sat there trying to come to terms with the bomb that had just been dropped in her laps, she felt herself sinking slowly but surely into the quicksand the impact of the news had just created at her feet. When she could sink no further, a gut wrenching scream escaped her lips and hot tears began to stream down her face. Her body was wracked by painful, uncontrollable sobs.

“How could he be gone? He promised to always be there!” she kept saying to herself over and over. “He promised! He promised!” She was struggling with the finality of his demise and was overcome with grief the like she had never experienced before. She thought back to the last time she saw him. It was earlier in the week. Labake’s mum had taken her to the hospital to get treated for a recurring cold. While there, they found out from one of the hospital staff, a good friend of Labake’s mum, that her uncle had been admitted and was in pretty bad shape. Traces of a fast acting poison had been found in his system.

When Labake went in to see him, he was a ghost of his usual cheerful, happy-go-lucky self and he almost did not recognize her. He was in so much pain. That special reassuring smile he saved only for their time together, just for her was gone. She was heartbroken at the sight of him in that condition and prayed fervently that he would recover soon, just so she could see that smile again, the smile that always assured her that everything would be okay.

Thinking back now, Labake’s greatest regret was not having seized the moment to tell him how much she loved him. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he knew she loved him dearly, but she didn’t say it that one time it mattered the most. She never got a chance to say goodbye.

Back at her dressing table, Labake wiped her tear drops off of the photograph of her beloved uncle that she held in her hands. It was the 12^th anniversary of Uncle Segun’s death. It had been 12 long years since that fateful Saturday morning, but to her it still felt like yesterday and her grief still felt the same. But after years of him appearing in her dreams, each time hugging her tight and whispering “Goodbye my love”, she felt a bit better and could move on knowing that even in death he loved and cared for her still. She would always be his favourite girl and he would always be her first love.

The Yings To My Yang…

You know that one guy that charmed the pants of you, completely sweeping you off your fancy stilettos or plimsolls, or whatever your choice of footwear may be. And for a while he was the proverbial Romeo to your Juliet, the Clark to your Lois, the ying to your yang. He had you believing you had found your theend.com, and silly old you was already naming the X and Y chromosomes yet to formed in your tubes. The clouds in the sky were not as high as the cloud you were on. Only for time and certain circumstances to reveal the true nature of your beloved chameleon. Yup, you’ve been had!

Sometimes, you could encounter more than one of these yings, as I choose to call them for the sake of this article, in your lifetime. Shit happens. Just look at it this way, your life has been a bit more interesting than most, and you have more life stories in the “I Was Once A Maga” department to tell your grand-kids.

As fate, or whatever that bitch’s name is called, would have it, I fall into the category of those who were “lucky” enough to have encountered more than one of these yings; And in my usual fashion, I have classified some of my encounters for your reading pleasure. Some are real, others I witnessed. I’ll start with my favorite ying: the Pathological Romeo.

The Pathological Romeo is a good boy, a very good man-boy actually, and this is what makes him the worst kind of ying. Everyday is a honeymoon with him, up until the moment he abruptly pulls a 180 on you. One minute you’re the star that lights up his life, the next you’re not good enough to shine his shoes. You see, the problem with a Pathological Romeo is that he’s constantly falling in love. It has nothing to do with you but everything to do with his “LOVE ADD”. He’d catch a grenade for you today and between the time it takes for you to walk down the aisle to the alter he’s already jumping in front of a train for one of your wedding guests while professing his undying love for her. He just can’t help it. Sadly, there’s no way to spot a Pathological Romeo. He’s in love again and on to the next before you can say “Lynch that Jackass”!

Pro: They always give 110% in a relationship.

Con: They’re in and out so fast they leave skid marks on your self esteem.

Then there’s the Houdini. The Houdini is a master performer. He takes his time to wow and dazzle you till he has you believing you’re the centre of his universe. Your defences are no match for his calculated cunning. He’s that kind of guy that seems too good to be true which is usually the case. He always has an ulterior motive but one can never tell what it is. It could be money, a favor, to win a bet, or sex. Either way you’re his sole focus for as long as it takes to get what he wants; but once he does he’ll vanish so fast and so completely you’re not even sure he was ever there to begin with. A skilled escape artiste like the great Harry Houdini himself. He’s gone without a trace. One term comes to mind when talking about the Houdini’s vanishing act; it’s called “Restore Factory Settings”.

Pro: He’s everything you need him to be.

Con: He’ll leave you doubting the authenticity of your memory bank.

And of course, there’s Mr Cool. Mr Cool is a proper gentleman, well educated and well mannered. And he likes his women to be just as classy. You could even liken him to 007. Mr Cool knows how to treat a lady, knows how to show her a good time and how to rock her world. There’s usually no need for her to know she’s not the only one he’s rocking. It’s a “Love AT Your Own Risk” type relationship. The attraction here is his boyish good looks, devil-may-care take on life and fun demeanour. He’s the alpha male and everything has to go his way. He’s commitment phobic and constantly in-need of variety. You could probably trace his ancestral lineage back to King Solomon. The more the merrier. And when you discover his polygamous trait, you either join em or leave em, your choice.

Pro: He’s the absolute perfect date/hookup.

Con: That’s just about all he’s good for.

The Older Dude. This does not necessarily mean a wide age gap. The Older Dude is distinguished as he is sophisticated, oozing charm from every pore. This class of guys only have eyes for PYTs. He swoops in, showers you with unwavering love, affection and attention, and just when you start to think “Wow! Jackpot!” the grooming process begins. It starts with subtle suggestions; “Why don’t you get rid of that jeans, it makes your derriere look like sagging water balloons. #JustSaying”. Before you know it, he’s picking out your clothes, telling you when and how to shave your pits, how to conduct yourself with him in public, and even most disturbing, constantly wanting to know “Who’s your daddy”. In less than a month you’re one of Jeff Dunham‘s walking, talking puppets on a stick. There’s not enough therapy or deliverance in the world to purge your system of that toxic experience.

Pro: The TLC is second to none.

Con: You’ll inherit daddy issues you never had in the first place.

And finally, the most memorable of them all, the Adonis. It’s too easy to fall for this guy. With a body like one of those warriors in 300 and the face of a greek god, even my great-grandmother doesn’t stand a chance. It may take a while to notice that his looks are all he has going for him. All you see is the strapping Enrique Iglesias meets Shemar Moore of your fantasies, and how cherubic your babies will look like in your family portrait. This effectively keeps you from noticing that his IQ is below the level of what the opposite of Albert Einstein’s IQ would be, well into the minus range; his conversations are as interesting as a door knob, or even worse, as watching paint dry, and his idea of a good time is using you as his dumbbell. It really is a sad and embarrassing drop from Mount Olympus when you realize you’ve been had by a dumb blond with balls.

Pro: He’s so freaking hot he should be illegal.

Con: Minus zero IQ is contagious.

After all is said and done you can’t help but wonder, so who IS the perfect ying. Ironically, he is all of the above. Admittedly, none of them could ever be my true ying. Impossible is an understatement. But that doesn’t mean they don’t fit the specs of some other lovely ladies out there, or float their boat so to speak. As both fact and fiction has proved time and time again, one man’s shower gel is another man’s washing up liquid. To each his own. The prayer is to find whatever or whoever it is that completes you, whether man, woman, otherwise-gendered, animal or object (yes, the 21st century is that fucked up in its diversity).

What’s YOUR ying?

Cheers!