with him,” Gorata protested. “I broke it off with him a long time ago.”
“Then why did you agree to go out with him next Saturday?”
“It’s not a date. He’s leaving the country. He just wants us to say goodbye. I’m not dating Johan any more, I’m dating Alfred.”
Why couldn’t Kelebogile understand? It was difficult to find the person who was perfect for you. You had to kiss a pile of frogs to find your prince, right? Everyone knew that. Gorata couldn’t help that her frog pile was becoming exceptionally high. Maybe she had bad luck.
“You’re being very cruel, Kele, you know that? I can’t help it if my Mr Right is taking so long to show up.”
Kelebogile’s hand touched Gorata’s arm. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why not just wait until the right man comes along? Why go out with every guy hoping he’ll be the one? I know you have your so-called ‘Big Plan’, but you can’t force it. In the real world that doesn’t happen. Forget your stupid goal. Just hang in there and wait – the perfect man is going to find you.”
Gorata knew her romantic life was a bit of a mess. But what else could she do? Time was running out. She didn’t want to be an old maid, sitting in a big, empty house with her two cats and an overweight dog called Molly.
“What if the right man never comes along?” Gorata said and couldn’t stop the tears pooling in her dark eyes. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m a silly fool. But I want a husband and kids . . . I want love in my life . . . Maybe I won’t ever find Mr Perfect, maybe I just need to settle for who I get.”
“Don’t say that,” Kelebogile soothed her. “You’re a successful, beautiful, caring woman. How could the right man not find you?” She gave Gorata a hug.
Just then Ozee came up to the window. “All finished, Lady Gorata.” He smiled and his next words took on an entirely new meaning, “Unless you’ve got another task for me?”
Despite her sullen mood, Gorata grinned. How did this man make everything that came out of his mouth sound like a come-on? “No, nothing else.” She dug in her bag, looking for some money.
“So, off on a hot date, I bet,” Ozee said. “A woman like you doesn’t sit at home on a Friday night. You go out to fancy restaurants, the best clubs, foreign films.”
“Maybe,” Gorata answered, handing over the money.
“Well, whoever he is, he’s not good enough for you.” Ozee gave his dimpled smile again.
Gorata looked at him. “How do you know?”
Ozee winked. “Because he’s not me.”
He took the money, spun around acrobatically and waved in the next car. Gorata pulled out of the station, heading home with a big smile.
“He likes you,” Kelebogile said.
“Nonsense,” Gorata said unconvincingly. “He’s just doing his job.”
Chapter 2
2
“Bacon?” Kelebogile asked from the stove where she was dishing up. Both Gorata and Amita said, “Yes!”
Sunday brunch at Gorata and Kelebogile’s house was becoming a tradition for the three women. Today, like most Sundays before it, the brunch became a rehash of their weekend.
Kelebogile set the plates down on the table already crowded with Sunday papers, the chocolate croissants Amita had brought and big mugs of freshly brewed coffee. The plates of cheese omelette and bacon squeezed in among the clutter.
“So of course we beat the crap out of that team from Durban. To be honest, they lost as soon as they walked onto the pitch. One look at the Amazons I have on my team this year and it was over. I’m telling you, though, my girls are fantastic, just a joy to watch. Such smooth, confident skill,” Kelebogile said proudly before taking a sip of her coffee.
“When’s your next game?” Amita asked, crunching her bacon up onto her omelette.
“Next week it’s here, and then . . . then in Rustenburg.”
Gorata’s eyes widened. “So Mr Volunteer won’t be attending that one, I assume?”
“Who’s that?” Amita asked.
“Kele’s keeping her new man on the down-low,” Gorata teased.
Kelebogile pretended to ignore Gorata by paging through The Sunday Voice. “Did you read Bra Kee?”
Bra Kee was the conscience of the young, black Joburg populace. His Sunday column, Batho Ba Mzansi, was stingingly funny and painfully spot-on. Every Monday around the city at coffee machines, in cubicles, on Facebook and around water coolers all talk was about Bra Kee’s words the previous day.
Gorata laughed. She knew Kelebogile’s tactics only too well. She’d give her the point this time, but she would be going back to the conversation her friend was trying to avoid. In the meantime she said, “What’s he saying today?”
Amita and Gorata continued eating while Kelebogile read them the juicy bits from Bra Kee’s column:
What’s up with our home girls? Do they lose their minds once they step into the city limits? Back in the village we are all good enough. But once they’re under the city lights, they suddenly produce a list.
Ya, we all know the listers. Come on, my chinas, we have to admit that list gives us all sleepless nights – right?
We ain’t gonna be getting nothing if we can’t tick off each and every item on that list. Gotta have the right phone, the right car, the right job, the right clothes, a pile of cash . . . That’s just it. They’ve written the law, and we need to hustle to make the grade.
I think our women are blinded by the lights, they become confused and can’t think straight.
I mean, what if me and my brus started making a list? What would they think of that? And what would be on that list? Come on, my chommies, send me our list. Let’s sort these chicks out. Let’s all be listers.
Next week.
Peace out – Bra Kee
“Eish!” Kelebogile exclaimed. “He’s going to get people’s backs up again now.”
Gorata reached for one of the croissants, then dipped it in her coffee. “Do people really get angry at him? I don’t take him that seriously.”
Kelebogile stood up to get the coffee pot and topped up everyone’s mugs. “You’re maybe the only one who doesn’t. The men are going to send him lists, that’s for sure. I wonder what he’ll put in the column. Men can be crude, you know. I can only imagine what they’ll be saying. Women aren’t going to like it.”
“Damn straight to that,” Amita said.
“But in any case he’s telling the truth. Some women do have lists,” Kelebogile said. “That’s it with Bra Kee; he speaks the truth.”
“He’s
