Caught up in constant struggle

The virus has equipped us with great skills. Like washing hands. The pandemic has also taught us to fight. A lot of us are fighting to survive. To put food on the table and toilet paper in the bathrooms. Well, maybe not those who purchased all those packs of white gold in March, but everyone has their own fights.

“Don’t stop fighting,” a friend advised me this week. “Fight as if you’re the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s ark and it’s starting to rain.”

Which is, I’m convinced, the lovely Snapdragon’s motto in life. When the going gets tough, Snapdragon gets fighting and often quite dirty, like any self-respecting girl from the West Rand does.

“What will it take to get you to be a more pleasant person?” I asked her this week. “Pleasant isn’t going to put food on the table or buy toilet paper,” she growled. “But since you’re asking, I’ll be more pleasant if you stop being such a failure as a human, a man, a husband and a father.” “Ouch,” I said. “It must be quite a view there from your high horse, princess.” “Which you don’t have in you to achieve,” the love of my life continued unbothered.

“So, if you want kindness, love and affection, go and look for it elsewhere.” “Okay,” I said with just a hint too much enthusiasm. “How dare you agree with me!” she roared. “You know I said all those things because I’m angry,” she told me later. “I’m angry at the long time between salaries. I’m angry at the constant battle. You can’t hold me accountable for the things I say when I’m angry. That’s why we’re fighting.”

“I can and I do,” I said, slightly spiteful. “And we are not fighting. The queen of England is the only woman who can call herself ‘we’. You’re no queen. Just a snowflake princess.” “Next week, I’ll mitigate all the damage,” she said, which sounded like a threat to me. “Let me just get to terms with my feelings about this terrible time.”

I don’t know if next week will ever arrive for those of us who battle daily. But, who knows, maybe things will turn out all right in the end. But until then, I’ll be that third monkey in the rain. The one with the flick knife.

Dirk Lotriet.

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