Month: April 2016

It’s only fair…

That I list a few things you should never say to a guy.

You’re like my best friend.

Ever think of working out?

Maybe you should see a doctor.

I thought all men could change a tyre.

Really?  Not even a light bulb?


Still soccer?

Oh man up.

It’s just a game for god’s sake.


Oooh, ja, it is small.

We should just stay friends.

A virgin? You’re kidding me.

What the hell is wrong with you?

I’m sorry I fucked your best friend.

I know it was our wedding, I said I’m sorry.

God, you really are a cunt.


Ten more things to never say to a woman

Calm down.

Is that really what you’re going to wear?

I can tell you have your period.

That time of the month hey?

Put on a bit of weight?

Bet you’ve never had such great sex.


Seriously, calm down.

You’re just like your mother.

Ever thought of getting implants?

Are you really going to finish that?

You pregnant?

Did you come?

Why haven’t you got a boyfriend?

Still no boyfriend?

And am I just not the absolute best you’ve ever had!

I could go on but I have to go kill someone.   Feel free to add…


Maybe I was a little defensive

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I’ve been playing Joni Mitchell, baking and chatting to my neighbour across the garden wall.

We spoke about the sunshine, recipes and the delicious smell of freshly baked cake wafting from my kitchen.

Gonna taste fantastic, he said.

Yip, I said proudly, I do make a fine chocolate cake.

And then he fucked it all up.

How come you’re still single?

What. Excuse me?

I found myself getting all defensive, like, I quite like being single and fuck you for even asking and goddammit, I said, you cannot ask questions like that. You cannot.

I went to check my cake.

When I came back he was still leaning over the wall.

It’s just, I haven’t seen you in a long term relationship. Men have come, men have gone, I think there was a woman, but – nothing permanent. What’s that about? Are you difficult?  Do you get lonely?

Jesus. Did this guy not know when to stop.

Next he would be telling me I looked tired and had gained weight.

There are some things you just don’t say to people.


Maybe I am difficult, I said. Maybe it’s also none of your fucking business.

I don’t know why I was so cross. I do like being single but dammit I also want to fall in love.

And I’m not lonely now, but I am a bit scared of being lonely when I’m older.

So yeah, he struck a chord.

Except – It is a choice. A for now choice.

I would never think of questioning his choices.  He was rude and presumptuous and then he kept sending me messages, feeling bad, saying sorry, but also asking for some cake.

No way. I replied, no fucking way. 

There are some things you just steer clear of. Failed relationships, for one.

I’m eating the cake alone.

All alone.

And don’t you dare ask me if I’ve gained a little weight.



So tell me how you feel about money Violet, I’m curious.

No.  Please no.

I broke out into a cold sweat.

 It just kind of works out,  I answered. I mean, god look at those gorgeous shoes you’re wearing and how fab is this Autumn weather and have you heard about the fugitive Rabbi…

I tried to change the subject. Money, just the mention of it, gives me that terrible feeling in my chest. I feel panic attacks coming on. I cannot go there.

But this woman was persistent.

I mean it, she said. What do you do to invest, how are you planning for the future?

Do we have to talk about this? Really.  No-one likes to talk about money.

She picked up on my anxiety.

When you’re ready, then, maybe I can talk to you about investments and stocks. We’ll set up a time.

I was thinking that she was sweet but stupid and also really looking at her shoes which were magnificent. High. Patent shiny black. Italian. Very very sexy.

Where are they from, I asked?

Oh that little store down the road, I bought them with the profit on…

I couldn’t help it. I slapped her. Then I drove to the store to check out the shoes. Oh my gosh. I found the perfect pair. Only R 2000. It would be fine.  I had to. I just wouldn’t eat for a week. Or two.

I bought them.

I am impulsive when it comes to money. I spend it then I panic then I cut back on stuff then work comes in and I get excited and I spend again and then I panic and then I get more work and I buy more shoes and then it all goes quiet and the fridge is a little empty and then there are more shoes and then I earn and then I don’t and then I cry over my coffee but then I buy another one because it is so delicious and then another job comes in and it always seems to just work out.

By the skin of my teeth it all works out.

And that is how I feel about money.

I don’t want to talk about it.




Why are you marching, Violet?

For the exercise, I replied. You?

She thought for a minute. And then said:

For the right to vote. For democracy. Freedom. For the Constitution. For education. For humanity.

And most importantly, for peace.

Oh god, I had given the wrong answer.

Of course I was marching for all those things too. I was, after all, part of the Peace march at Constitution Hill.

This was not the gym!

But right that moment, when she asked me, everything felt good. People were drumming, dancing and singing. The sky was shimmering, the sun on our skin felt delicious, and there were so many of us, all colours, ages and religions, connected as one.

And there were no politicians.

Which meant there was no agenda.

I got in my ten kilometres, sucked in my core, got a little bit sunburned, drank water from the fountain and headed home.

And on the way home I saw these birds.

Magnificent.  Peaceful.  In formation.

And free.

Exactly the way we South Africans marched today.

With only one agenda – Peace.




Harden up

Harden up, he said.

Fuck you, she said.

Because she never wanted to hear those words again. She had no intention of hardening up.

She being me, of course.

I never want to feel indifferent. About anything. Except cats. Everyone feels indifferent about cats.

We should feel indifferent to cats.

But about love and loss, goddammit, I’m going to feel as much as I can. And if that means weeping in movies, sobbing in the bath over a book, sobbing in the bath over a man, crying when I remember my first dog, or watching music videos over and over again, I’ll do it.

And yeah, you got it. I’m at home, on the couch, tears flowing down my cheeks. Prince.

I know why I loved him. Apart from being a musical genius and astonishing,  he gave me words. Same as Bowie. They gave me, us, words for how we felt. When we couldn’t express them, they sang them for us.

They helped us to feel.

And getting feelings out there helps. It oddly brings a lightness.

So I’m going to be expressive. As expressive as I fucking want to be.  And that’s about everything.

Caring shows life. And it shows love.

I care for this guy, even though he tells me to harden up.

So right now I am sending him the knife emoji. I’ve sent it five hundred times and I’m going to keep sending it until he responds to my mail.

I care dammit.

And I am not going to be scared to show it.