I get a request from a man to “chat”.
His profile pic is under lock and key.
Why would a man do that?
Is he hiding because he’s high profile and one may recognize him? Is he shy and protecting himself from hoards of sexually frustrated women?
Is he arrogant?
Is he wanted by the authorities?
Whichever it is, he sends me a few formal pictures of himself in a suit and we start the process. His English isn’t good, he rates himself as very attractive (I would say average, but he obviously has a great self esteem), he’s apparently well educated and wealthy…ok, we’re off to a good start. I notice and ignore the tick at the conservative politics block, the fact that I find out that he isn’t Russian but Afrikaans and that he has a hotmail e-mail address. A little light goes on in my brain when a non-descript hotmail or gmail address is used although I understand that anyone would protect themselves from the thousands of crazy people out there.
Ok, so I understand that he hasn’t a clue in this area and change tack, busying myself with toast and butter.
He may have got the wrong impression on the outset when I said “yes, oooh yes, lets sit in a cubicle, I LOVE a cubicle!”
As I turn to him his Apple i-pad is aloft and clicks with a corresponding flash of light in my face.
I’m curious about his upbringing and the fact that he hasn’t found someone suitable in the twenty years since his divorce. I get as a reply the list of cars he owns and the number of international properties he’s bought. I press on and ask about his spiritual convictions, which are to be expected, traditionally Afrikaans.
What do you say to that? He needs it for my cell number, he says, but I realize that he must have some serious boundary issues and I’m starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable.
“On the contrary Piet, I’m more New Age in my approach. Have you heard of Eckard Tolle?”
“Well then, don’t read to me out of the Quran!”, he spits, getting agitated.
“I was, but am deleting my facebook profile soon, it’s rubbish!”
“I have a moffie, called Casper de Vries as my friend and I don’t even know him, and yesterday I see some Nigger is there as well!”
As I started my car he parted with, “You know, the older you get the more difficult it’s going to be to find someone, I hope I see you soon.”
I drove out feeling a little rattled, enough to pull into a mall close to home - just in case.
I parked and sat for thirty minutes. I had to smile.
We meet and happily greet at a popular coffee shop and as we sit in the cubicle he pats the seat next to him. I ignore the “pat” and sit where I’m comfortable opposite him. It’s awkward, let’s face it, but I’m open and confident and start chatting about kids, jobs and the weather when he grabs my hand. I’m a bit taken aback and smile politely under his pressing fingers, he’s obviously nervous, the tiny beads of moisture on his lip a dead give-away. I ever so gently extract my hand in the search for a tissue and with two hands dab at my chilly nose.
“Piet, did you have a look at my non-negotiable boxes on my profile? I’m not a Christian and this fundamental difference is not conducive to a great relationship, don’t you think?”
“As long as you aren’t a bible puncher then I’m happy” he replies.
As soon as my hand is free he again grabs it and starts milking my fingers urgently, breathing loudly. He has an odd look on his face, as if he’s trying to tell me something with his eyes? I’m not quite sure where this is going but he does and takes my hand under the table onto his knee. Luckily I didn’t sit on his “pat” – I now have clarity and a disturbing vision of what he was intending, had I been sitting any closer.
I extract my hand yet again and bleat pathetically, “are you on facebook?”, gathering my bag to myself, packing up, indicating that I was done.
His answer coincided with a sharp lifting of his arm to call for the bill.We walked out stiffly, the tension cloud following us all the way to my car.
I thanked him politely for the breakfast and offered an Italian hug.
He accepted the hug and took a feel of my bum!
I was in two minds. Should I burst out laughing or should I scream. Neither.
The sms read “Dear Piet, you are a lovely man and I’m sure you’ll find a suitable partner soon. Thank you for the breakfast. Fundamentally I think we are too different for any lasting relationship to develop. Good Luck. M”
I laughed at my mom who follows the journey with great interest.
“Well, who can blame him, he was trying to get something that he’d normally pay a thousand rand a pop for…..all for the price of a budget breakfast!”
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