On wooing prospective lovers and reigniting ‘old-fashioned’ charm

I was at some service station around Gabs recently, and found myself seated beside one gentleman who magically became my boyfriend.

This of course was a figment of his imagination. He struck a conversation and being a friendly and polite young lady, I indulged him.

Unbeknown to me, this gentleman was cementing romantic ties between us in his head. We spoke about the weather, sports, politics… a chit-chat one would have with a stranger. He

then requested my Whatsapp number and I gave it to him without much thought.

A few days later he called and refered to me as ‘darling’ and asked when I would visit him. I was confused!

This made me wonder how we got to a point where a woman giving a man her number automatically means that she is interested in him or that they are dating. I understand that the fear of rejection and ridicule makes many men scared of proposing women so they would rather drop hints and if she plays along, then it’s a done deal but if she’s ‘cold’ then it means she’s not interested.

So that said, as a woman, giving a man my number is a ‘yes’ even if the proposal never materialised in the physical.

The advent of social media and lax morals has seen it easier for people to jump into mindless affairs of shares and tags, and other sexual relations. Malatsi a e ka re bo rre ga ba phoshe. Fa a tsere mogala o ipheditse.O tla nna a go “cheka” a ithapedisa. Ijoo!

But I guess it depends… Yes, you get those men who fear rejection so much that if a woman gives him the run-around he would think, o ka tsamaya a ipoka. That is why some men pay for sex or sleep with loose women: it is easier for them. Akere ba merobalo ke bo ‘o ncheka leng’ ga go buiwe sepe se se tlhalefileng. On the other hand, men who pursue a woman with sights of making her a significant other would woo her. That is why some women play hard to get. The thinking behind this is that if a man is serious, he will take time to pursue her. I understand that back in the day, there were rogues who would come face-to-face with a woman he is interested in and twist her arm until she said ‘Yes.’ Such abuse!

The gentlemanly Cassanova types would take pen to paper and dribble ‘examatic beauty and unadulterated piece of brainspill memoria’ and write:

“My dear sweetie pie,

“Time and ability plus double capacity has forced me to put pen to dance on this benedicted sheet of paper. I hope you are swimming in the pool of good health. I am perambulating in the cool breeze of wellness.

Sweetie pie, as I stand horizontally parallel to the wall and vertically perpendicular to the ground, I only think of you fantastic woman. You are haranguing with my feelings. Each time I see you, my metabolism suddenly halts and my peristalsis goes in reverse gear, and my medulla oblongata ceases functioning.

Let my appellation be scribbled across your heart. If only you knew what is going on in my encephalon, you would prostate. That is why I need to see you vis a vis for better elucidation through a tete-a-tete. No hyperbole and onomatopoeia, simple candidness. I implore you to decipher this my anthem of love oozing from the innermost pendulum of my thoraxial cavity.”

Who would ignore anyone who commits such grave grammatical crucifixion in the name of anatomical love?