Seeing Red With A Broken Heart

It’s all petals, pouting, and perfumed perfection on the eve of Valentine’s Day. It might be commercial exploitation, but give a girl a weekend away, wine her, dine her, lavish gifts from the heart upon her, and believe me, you’ll star in her good books! We’ve all had our fair share of disappointments, especially this week—a Black Friday 13th it was—when our Constitution was stripped of its status by the very powers that are there to protect us.

On Friday, my Facebook status read: “I am nauseated, ashamed, and disgusted. Like puking in a car, the stench, humiliation, and loss of dignity are going to linger for a very long time. Shame on you for making a mockery of our democracy and our Constitution. I hope you reflect long and hard; hopefully, the ride won’t be as comfortable after the backfire. My heart is broken—Fifty Shades of Puce. Just heard the news broadcast. Our dismay is like water on the ducks’ backs; our “chief” is swanning it at a press breakfast, justifying the debacle!”

We’re off to spend a weekend in Cape Town. It’s Valentine’s weekend, and I’ve packed all my red, lacy lingerie. I will attempt to squeeze into my fabulous, clingy evening dress and stilettos. Oh, Beloved! Make haste!

Today is Monday, and as they say in Afrikaans, “Die Kaap is weer Hollands.” A friend reports from Medi City that she’s been well cared for by friendly, professional staff who know exactly what they’re doing. I’ve chatted with the postal worker, who still does his rounds on a bicycle, and he feels the same way about the state of the nation as I do: “a bloody shambles,” he says, though a tad more eloquently. The salute from the gatekeeper at Mount Nelson was as formal and colonial as it might’ve been in 1910, when my great-grandfather lived there. Once again, I’ve realized that politicians are self-serving whores who have no regard for the people they serve.

So, at Fifty (when I’m in the shade), I say: to hell with wearing your heart on your sleeve; don’t do guilt, but all that glitters can be gilt. If you manage to be the subject at the dinner party, then so be it!