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George Gladwin Matsheke
Article / Last Nights Party
13H10 TUESDAY, 21 DECEMBER 2010
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Flirtation has always been a challenge for me, and yet I’ve never been the shy type. I was the kid who sang a special rendition of Brenda Fassie's Weekend Special to impress my mother’s visitors. I was the one who would show the uncool kids the latest dance move. And yet on the other hand, I’ve never really warmed up to boys. I remember once my brother's friend's cousin, Mohau, had come to visit for the holidays. He must have been about 12 years old and he was kinda cute. I was a little put off by his raging hormones though. He kept on trying to kiss me. Ewwwwwwww! I mean, how disgusting. My brother and his friend were quite entertained by him chasing after me. Ha-ha, it all ended when I gave him a nice, warm slap in the face. Poor guy burst in to tears, but soon after returned the favour with an eve warmer one my way.

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I balled my eyes out and my relationship with boys has quite been the same since. At 26, my relationships with the opposite sex is anything but normal. I have a lot of male friends, perhaps too many and I will only give IT up if our relationship has been going on for yonks. I have grown to prefer a book in my bed as opposed to some smelly, hairy, strange creature who constantly wants to get IT on. Pshhh! I have better things to do with my time.

You are probably thinking, 'HORNY LIAR!''

For someone who has a border-line male phobia, I love to have a good time. I often found myself locking lips with strange, inebriated fellows I'd picked up on the dance floor. Once or twice I ended up doing much more than kissing my new found dance floor mates. But that was then.

I got bored with kissing strangers. I got tired of giving out my number, out of some weird form of guilt, to strangers I would save in my phone as “Creep 1”, “Creep 2” and “Creep 3” after they made a nuisance of themselves, calling me one too many times.

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I got tired of the sexy, young jaiva yoyos who did the booty hop like their entire life depended on it. I got tired of the drooling middle-aged men who get a kick out of standing in the middle of the dance floor for the sole purpose of watching young ones get down. These are the same middle aged men who think that buying you a Savannah will turn you into an easy freak. “Erm, malome (uncle), I think I can manage fifteen bucks to buy my own Savannah, thanks.”

So, I’m starting to think that I am indeed somewhat socially abnormal when it comes to relating to men. If you come too close in a flirtatious way, I will excuse myself to go to the loo and when I eventually come back, I will stand at least a meter away from you. This is not because I am not attracted to you but because I generally get weird when I get macked on, especially in a club.

Perhaps the rational explanation would be that I’m getting older and I'm going to get picked up or pick up any body at my chosen party spot. I’m most likely to fall for close friends or (for the millionth time) ex-boyfriends who just can’t let go. Clearly a topic for another day.

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