To side chick or not to side chick, that is a cheeky question.
This piece might or might not have been inspired by the recent scandals involving the Gigaba household. But I am more concerned about how the minister is handling issues of national importance such as immigration laws; I do not give a gigabyte about who he exchanges bodily juices with.
So, this is just my own fermented hops dews.
The other night when I was taking off my clothes getting ready for bed, my partner noticed a shredding at the bottom of my underwear. I told her there's also a small hole developing at the back. She shook her head in dismay and said; "Aw kodwa babe". And we laughed about it and agreed that we will throw it away in the morning.
Let me point it out that I buy and change sets of underwear every semester, at most. But there's this one item of clothing that you never get rid of no matter what. My blue underwear is one of them, well, it was, because now it has joined other rags in the bin. I know I'm not the only one, but I know that most niggas won't admit it. So, as usual, I'm admitting it on behalf of everyone.
For most of us, this habit of holding on to worn out clothes even though we can afford new ones, partly has to do with our heredity and upbringing. My grandmother would never let us throw clothes away because they are “worn out”. I can vividly still remember my younger brother Nkule's pair of pants, which the original colour was grey, but over the years it got all the rainbow colours because my grandmother would patch it with a rag every time it got tattered and she was not consistent with her colours. And because of the games we used to play, like Umshininizo, which was literally skateboarding on your ass using a piece of cudbox as your “board”, and a game we simply called Amahhashi, whereby one kid would be a “horse” and the other rides atop him. The pants suffered mostly on the buttocks and the knees because of such games.
Ok, I was talking about side chicks, pardon me, I always get carried away and digress. Now, imagine the incident the other night with my girlfriend, if I was with a young hottie from UJ inside a hotel room. Do you think she would still have let me hit that? Maybe. But the most probable outcome is that the following morning I'd be that guy throwing away unused condoms. What a waste. And she, of course, would be having an orgy with her friends on Twitter about my underwear.
I have been with my current partner for four years now. We've gotten to know each other in a way that we even finish each other's sentences. She knows what I'm about to say before I say it. We understand each other. She has learned to deal with my flaws and I have learned to ignore hers. Any man who says he never gets tempted to cheat on his partner is a compulsive liar. I get tempted frequently. But the thought about the process just puts me off. Having to start all over again, introducing myself, be charming/romantic all over again, that's just an effort too much for me. I do not have the time and energy.
Speaking of energy, my bae knows and she allows it that sometimes I go for three seconds and park on the side. She would console herself with the fact that I'm here and I am not going anywhere. The next round belongs to her.
