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My mother gave her (unsolicited) advice on the writing up of this particular date. "Shame", she said, "you can't give the details, you must be very vague, refer to John54 as 'disabled' and leave it at that." "Mom", I responded, "my reflections in this particular case have nought to do physical ability, or disability. So, no advice."
John54 was promising. He boasted all the right credentials: He is (1) an old boy of my favourite boys' school. He can thus do no wrong. (2) a C.A. from one of my alma maters with over a decade's worth of UK-based work experience. Read: off-shore assets, international passport. Very important these days, despite Brexit. We still have Zuma. (3) Jewish. He'll love his Mom. Good sign. (4) Younger than me. Perfect. No pushing him around in a wheelchair one day, he can push me.
I arrived at our coffee date at my favourite little suburban teashop near my office after John54. He was already seated. He had a wonderful aura. Friendly. Embracing. Warm. We struck up an immediate rapport. He was witty, clearly very bright. I like bright. We had many an acquaintance in common. Not unexpected. This is a small city we live in. We laughed. A lot. Like I do. I liked John54.
John54 was peckish. He ordered a snack with his coffee. I didn't order lunch. I only eat when hungry. That week anyway. John54 then hauled out a little pouch, unzipped it , lifted up his (collared) t-shirt and jabbed himself. I looked on in awe. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Oh, I am a Type I Diabetic. I spike myself prior to eating ... " he said. We had an interesting and hilarious discussion on the topic: I recounted a weekend trip to a coastal holiday town with, inter alia, a man friend whom I thought had passed out drunk. Given my lack of sympathy for drunks, I ignored him. He was actually going into a diabetic coma. Fortunately the other man friend with us was in the know; chocolate was grabbed, banged under the tongue of the presumed drunk and we slapped him around until he came around. "Fortunately for modern medicine one can live a perfectly functional life as a Type I Diabetic these days" I said, hearing the sweetness of my mother in my words.
A little into the first cup of coffee John54 mentioned his "accident". Accident? He explained that he had been in a car accident as a young man and had lost partial use of one of his arms. He also had a chunk of meat missing out of that arm which had been skin grafted. He was surprised that I had not noticed his arm's tainted agility. He demonstrated its functionality to illustrate. He was also surprised that I had not noted the differing skin tones of his cheeks. I had not noticed but it was not disfiguring and at our age we all have blemishes and signs of a life well lived on our faces so I had not batted an eyelid so to speak. Skin had been taken off this one cheek. Can't recall if it was used in the graft or was damaged in the accident. Oh well, I thought, his accident certainly hasn't stood in his way; he is an avid swimmer he tells me. Swum the Fish Hoek mile, a gruelling mile long sea swim, a gazillion times. I could boast but two Fish Hoek miles. I then gave up these long distance swims. I explained why I had stopped these swims to John54: "You see, a granny was eaten by a shark in the bay just before my last swim. All that was found was her bathing cap. In that last swim I did, I swam so close to the shore that each time I did an overarm (crawl / freestyle) I brought up a handful of sand! I decided that that was my finale in this bay. I did not want to tempt fate, you know."
On that happy note, John54 went on to say that he used to swim the Fish Hoek mile daily. I was in awe of this fit man. Daily. Until the day a shark ate him. The shark ate his one leg off and had a bite out of the other one, too before it pushed off for greener pastures. My knee-jerk response was to swing my head under the table. I did just that. My sunglasses fell off my head. And as true as Bob, John54 had a prosthetic leg. On his other foot he wore a croc shoe. No comment. "Poor you", I exclaimed "clearly the shark spotters were smoking a pipe and not spotting sharks that day." In fact, John54 had seen the relevant shark flag and had been warned verbally. He chose to go into the water all the same. Oh dear. No comment warranted. Too late for tears.
I gathered myself towards myself. I thought to myself, "self, what would Mom say in a moment such as this?" Aha! "Well, John54, my grandfather had only one leg and he remained a scratch golfer". My Mom would not have added this next comment but I did and it is true: "And my granny said they still managed regular sex, legless and all. I am sure you are back to normal!" Not so fast, Mary1. The story had not finished. Well actually John54 was not back to normal as the shark had had a good go at the other non-eaten-right-off leg. And that foot had been sewn back on and loads of pins and metal rods had been inserted to save the foot. The Orthopaedic Surgeon had done a marvellous job. Except John54 could not flex that ankle. Which has made mobilising a little tricky to this day.
John54 has a specially adapted car (like my grandfather had back in the 1950s) and a dinner date was planned. I looked forward to the next date with John54.
Mistake (1) We dined at a very below par restaurant. Where I take my kids after an evening rugby game at Newlands Stadium. Cheap and cheerful. Perfect for those sort of occasions. One can wear a beanie and anorak to this establishment. Mistake (2) we met there - no offer of a lift. Mistake (3) John54 chose an outside table. In April. "Get one inside!" I said " ... or I am not coming. I am not appropriately dressed" I said from my mobile phone en route to the rendezvous point. "I'll lend you my jersey". "I don't want to borrow your jersey. I want to sit inside. It is cold". Get the picture?
We had a delicious pizza. We each had our own. I had a "Mr Darcy", a pizza named after one of my favourite men (refer to Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice). My best from this establishment. Gluten-free base. We had lively discussions including why men pair up so easily post-divorce or post-death (of spouse, not of the man himself). My opinion is that "every man needs a maid" and hence the pairing up at speed and I gave an in-depth explanation of my theory. As I do. The bill arrived after a happy dinner. John54 put down R130. "Gosh", I thought to self. "That was a cheap meal". Then I realised that I was also to put down R130. Fortunately I had a wallet with me. To tip the car guards. Not to pay for dinner. Mistake (4)
John54 sent me a lovely "thank you for dinner" text. Well, the first part of the text was lovely. He added that he agrees with my theory that "every man needs a maid". He said he has a maid. One that does everything for him, bar one task. All he needs from a partner thus is to exercise his, and I quote, conjugal rights. And that is his reason for seeking a partner. Now, that is a new woo'ing methodology if I have ever come across one. Upon recounting this to my Mom she pointed out that John54 needs to be married to have conjugal rights ... but obviously he meant he is looking for sex. His English is clearly not up to scratch. Nor is his subtlety.
This is where the rot set in. You see, I was not deterred by the arm functional impairment, the prosthetic leg, the inflexible ankle, the facial skin graft, or Type I Diabetes Mellitus. I did worry about how we were to travel around the Greek isles next summer but I am very inventive and I would have made a plan. But I am sorry John54, mistakes (1) to (4) and now let's add (5) which is "don't be honest with women regarding what you're after". We know already. Just pretend it is my irresistible personality that you drawn to. Pick me up in your car. Take me to a decent establishment for dinner. Pay the bill. Tell me that I am the answer to your prayers and guess what? You'll have your "conjugal rights" quicker than you ever imagined. It is that easy. Try it.