Eating testicles in the name of “love!”
I never thought that testicles were delicious until the day I ate them. As soon as they were in my mouth, I closed my eyes, gently chewing the soft and succulent flesh, and slurping and licking my lips hungrily. Who would have ever imagined that balls would be so good?
While I allow you to get your head out of the gutter, and abate your over-active imagination, let me share with you an interesting post I recently came across on Facebook by a
popular self-proclaimed relationship and sex expert who argued in many relationships in Botswana, people jump to sex first without even going out on a proper date. Look, sex is good, very important, actually, but can never replace genuine companionship and friendship. The relationship and sex expert pointed out that the correct way of doing things is to go out on a date to get to know each other and surmise if you click, court each other, and then only then can you officiliase things. He also argued that couples should continue to go on regular dates even when they are an item, which I agree with because ‘date night’ is a thing.
But dates are a whole ball game of its own. I recall a certain chicken outlet franchise once ran a competition where people shared their best or worst date. Some of the stories were hilarious; from dates who didn’t know how to use fork and knife to those who ate with their mouth open, to those who when the bill came their cards. Khi!
During my dating days, I had amazing dates, but also one or two horrid experiences. One incident that stands out for me is this one time, when this other cultured and polished Model C chap expressed romantic interest in me and asked me out on a date. D-day arrived and we went to the cinema first and then for dinner at an upmarket restaurant that he chose. Look, I am a proper and proud kasi chick, so a chesanyama experience would be a good enough date for me. But once in a blue moon it is great to wine and dine and besides, my date had insisted on going all out. After the waiter brought the menu, I was given the honours of selecting the wine, and I chose the finest Cabernet Sauvignon because nnyaa when it comes to wine, I know my thing, shem; and you know how “wine people” like to show off like choosing a wine is solving a simultaneous equation. However, when the menu came, I couldn’t recognise most of the dishes – e le bo ‘ a la carte, what-what.’ I could have easily had a steak or salad but why would I go to such an expensive restaurant to eat the things I am familiar with? After a while the waiter came to take our orders and I pointed out a dish on the menu and said: “I want that.” (I couldn’t pronounce it). The waiter responded: “Oh, the criadillas…coming right up, ma’am.” My date had ordered a pasta dish, and when our food arrived, we dug in. My meat dish was delicious. After I had cleared my plate, my date looked at me with an amused stare and said: “I didn’t know you like testicles.”
Uhu… testicles? He noticed my confusion and casually added: “The dish you just had is animelles… its fried cow balls, didn’t you know?” Yei! I immediately felt nauseas. It was an experience for the books. So, my dear reader, that is how I ate testicles in the name of “love”!