My homies Silas and Mondli say they’re giving me one last chance to prove I’m a real man and not some Virgin Loser who can’t even score Swazi without screwing up and getting busted.
I’ve got a final test to pass. And it’s a tough one. When they tell me what it is my heart beats so loudly it’s like an orchestra of vuvuzelas in my ears.
I’ve got seven days to get laid. If I don’t, I must voetsek and hang out with other arbs.
I ask them who? Which hot thang in Jozi is going to let me come within five metres of her? I’ve got about as much chance of getting up close and personal to a babe as Bafana Bafana had of winning the World Cup.
Mondli takes pity on me and says the best place to pull chicks is at the farewell party for the matrics. Silas gives a filthy laugh and says the girls get so trashed they’ll do it with anyone, even with a loser like me.
The party’s in three days time. I look at Silas and Mondli and say bring it on. I’m ready. I think.
Image: Dundas Football Club, CC-BY-2.0