Truth V 2.0

2.0I would like to tell you that I am a really smooth Casanova-type of character. That if you take Hitch, mix him in with Eddie Murphy in Boomerang, then mingle that with LL Cool J songs sung in Julio Iglesias’ voice and wrap it all up in a tuxedo with a rose in its teeth, the result will look up at me and say, “Damn, that dude’s about as smooth as I am!”
I would like to tell you that, but my powers of exaggeration are not that strong. Don’t get me wrong, I am not entirely a dweeb, and I certainly don’t be saying “so, um... this your first time here?" (Lord have mercy, what kind of LOOOOOSER does that? Me when I was fourteen, actually, but that is another story.) however, it took me a while to learn that just being myself works fine. I don’t even try to mess with smooth. It’s like putting a bowtie on a donkey: the absurdity of the sight completely eclipses any merits the ass may have had in the first place.

Anyway, Daisy and I were both members of the same church: a church that had a well-publicised policy about teenagers growing up too quickly. There was a cut-off age. I was past it, and thus allowed to crush on whoever I wanted, but Daisy was not, and because of that it would be a sin to try and coax her into requiting stuff. At least it would be a sin if I didn’t wait a few months for her birthday, when she would become eligible.

Before you start crying out, she was sixteen, okay? Just two years younger than me.

I suspected that it was also sin to be infatuated with a person below the gazetted age of eligibility, but I am sure God understood. I prayed, “Lord, I mean, look at her! I mean she’s not just hot, she’s a conflagration! She is an inferno! You know what I mean?”

I waited for Him to say, “Okay, sonny, just this once, I’ll make an exception. Just this once, but only for you.” He didn’t answer immediately, but I was certain He would in a couple of days, and while I waited, I began to find ways of placing myself within blast radius… I don’t want to overdo the flaming supernova of hotness metaphor, but you have to understand, chick was that hot.

I found myself organising my activities in such a way that I would often bump into her accidentally. "Well, hello! Fancy that! I didn’t expect to see you round these parts! Who would have thought? So um, is this your first time here?"

And that is how I got to learn a very important lesson. Pay attention, boys, this could change your life. I learnt something very important: That Beautiful Girls Don’t Bite.

When we were boys sitting around the statue of Mary in the dorm quadrangle (We used to call her SMACK Babe. There is no Madonna statue as pawed and fondled and molested and having nipples drawn on it with chalk as those in boys’ schools. I digress...) When we were boys in school, we used to speak of beautiful girls as a challenge to be surmounted, a trophy to be won against great odds, an obstacle to be overcome. This is misguided and it is called objectification. No wonder those perverts be groping at the statue of SMACK Babe.

But while I waited for God to deliver my exemption, I actually got to know Daisy, to talk to her and listen to her and learn that she was a really great person. She was warm, funny, smart, deep and extremely nice.

I mean, we like totally had so much in common.

As in we liked the same music and we both liked to draw pictures. She was very good at it.
In spite of my infatuation, I actually found that I liked her. This totally discombobulated my paradigms.
Those lazy days and easy evenings became even more delectable and that month (she was on school hols) was one of the reasons I remember vac as one of the most pleasant periods of my life. Another reason is that I was just starting to write and a third is that I wasn’t as malfuncted as I was to later become.
NOw, because I got some sort of evil kick out bikozulu and scotchbuscuits' comments, I shall stop here and say: TUNE IN NEXT TIME for the conclusion which is very similar to the one in When Harry Met Sally and has the bit about me finding Daisy twelve years later.