This weekend my cousin invited me to her place for drinks. I anticipated nothing more than a night of heavy drinking (punctuated by an increasing number of slurred proclamations starting with the words “in life…”), followed by a morning of deep regret.
However, before I could get to my second drink and un-buckle my “drinking jeans”, the loud engine of a work-van parking in the guest-house garage brought my attention to the finest product of South Africa I’d ever laid my eyes on.
My jaw dropped (but not my drink…never my drink) as I watched a man so gorgeous that his muddy jeans and rolled up sleeves looked like they’d accompanied him straight out of a 1970’s romance novel titled “[the afrikaans version of] The year Hans, the tractor-mechanic re-awakened my desires” (or something), walk out of the van.
His piercing eyes and confusingly arousing uni-brow shot sparks through my body and I immediately decided to seduce this man even if it meant my advances would have to be lubricated by the tears of my ancestors.
And in true form I found a way to muddle up the whole thing. In fact, when in the heat of the moment my words act as my enemy. I know this because not too long after I opened my mouth all the young man’s attempts to put his mud-caked hands on my nubile thighs while he recounted tales that illustrated his very heroic non-racism (is that a white mating ritual?) came to a loud halt.
So for the black girls out there that are suffering from a particularly relentless bout of Dutch-fever, I present to you the 5 questions I said that ruined my first (and probably last) attempt to seduce an Afrikaner man.
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