Oops, I did it again. I went to the rugby - an environment expressly designed for women of a contrary nature to mine. But The Daughter loves the rugby and I'm trying to get Ross Skeate to take me on a date so I had to swallow my pride and ascend the stadium spiral to The Father's box dressed in more layers than was comfortable.
I settled the children into their seats with their cans of fizzy drinks and quickly ducked out back for one of my final cigarettes. And that's when it happened. A fifty-year old man with an apparent penchant for lying in sunbeds approached me. This was like a pukka divorcee. His shirt was unbuttoned an extra three holes, his neck was adorned by such a thick gold chain that I was surprised he didn't have graze marks on his chin and his jeans were so tight that I could tell his religion from thirty paces.
Fifty-Year Old With Thick Gold Chain: (motioning to his cigarette). Also a smoker?
The Pant: (taking drag of cigarette). Apparently.
FYOWTGC: Do you come here often?
TP: (Really?). Not really.
FYOWTGC: I do. Just bought into this box with Gary Teichmann. After my business was listed sixth on the JSE.
FYOWTGC: So, what do you do?
Blah blah blah...
FYOWTGC: Ja, I've been divorced two months now.
TP: (Very effing loud alarm bells. Larry, again, just a freak and nowhere near as scrummy) I'm sorry to hear that.
FYOWTGC: No. It's okay. I'm completely over my wife. The divorce was a long time coming.
TP: Yeah. Um... You're not.
FYOWTGC: No I am. Seriously. Just spent three weeks up in Mozam. Spent a lot of time thinking and I'm over her.
TP: Um... Look, FYOWTGC-
FYOWTGC: It's Ben.
TP: Listen, Ben. I've spent the past 18 months surrounded by divorcees, and you're not over it. In fact, judging by your kit and those delightful Buffaloes you're wearing, which, by the way, were only fashionable in Benoni during the late '90s rave scene, you are most certainly just getting into it.
TP: Truly. In fact, I can tell you exactly how it's going to go. You're going to meet a girl who is way more fun than your wife ever was-
Ben: No. I mean the shoes. They're really not fashionable?
TP: No, lovey. They're not.
Ben: So, are you coming to One Stop after the game?
TP: I'm wearing Ugg Boots, forty-seven layers of clothing, my hair is tied up and I've come to this match accompanied by my four-year old Daughter. I'm going directly home after this.
Ben: Your shoes are great. Although I would like to see you with your hair down.
TP: (eyeing his grey-with-blonde-streaks mullet) and I'd like to see you with your hair up.
Ben: Um. Well, I'll tell you what. You take my car - it's a Kompressor by the way-
(Successful restraint from violently moving right hand in manner of wanker)
Ben: ...go drop the kids off, dicky yourself up, and come back and meet me.
TP: Um. I'm going to take a cab home, thanks.
Ben: But how can I be certain you'll be back?
TP: You can't.
Ben: Well, give me your number at least.
TP: Sure. It's 555-653-6985.
Ben: Well, let me just missed call you so you can ring me when you get back here.
TP: Um... Did I say 555-653-6985? (Bugger.). That's my old number. (So caught!). My new one is ...
Phone: (Adele) I heard that you're settled down, that you found a girl and you're married no-ow-ow-ow.
TP: Well, I'll let you know if I'm coming back, Ben.
Ben: Great. You shouldn't be more than half an hour, hey?
TP: And you said you were married? To a woman? Ready in half an hour? Pffffft.
After a hot bath with my girl, I dressed into pyjama bottoms and settled into Ricky Gervais's Animals, and nodded off into the deepest sleep.
I awoke to two texts this morning:
1) You are missed. Sleep tight Pant. Good meeting you.
and 2) I recall having met a very sexy mom last night . I also recall that i may have been a strong contender to win the idiot of the night award. If there is a chance for me to see you again it would be great : ) Ben.
If I did reply, it would go something along the lines of:
Yes you did. Regards, Pant.