The road to love – and politics – is a difficult one

“I love Sebastian,” Egg told my mother-in-law this week.

“I was shocked,” she told us. Not because a toddler had lost her heart on one of the nursery school playboys, but because Bassie isn’t much when it comes to looks. “I would much rather have her choose a handsome heartthrob.”

I’m afraid my daughter inherited her mother’s bad taste in men. I’m not much of a looker myself.

“What about Tristan? He is a pretty boy,” Ouma asked Egg, but the little girl shook her head: “Uhuh! I love Bassie!” That eternal love only lasted until the next day.

“So, you love Bassie?” I asked her. She shook her head violently. “Uh-uh.”

Her limited vocabulary made it difficult to find out exactly what had happened, but apparently a girl called Sophie was involved. And it seems Egg has a finely plotted revenge plan up her sleeve – one that involves pretending to be a crocodile and scaring Sebastian.

(This lust for revenge after love also comes from the lovely Snapdragon, but I won’t go into detail. The wounds are still raw.)

Of course the intricacies of finding the love of your life are not limited to toddlers at nursery school. I had my fair share of battles in this regard. So did Snapdragon and most of the other people I know.

As a matter of fact, it is an issue with which South Africans will battle in the next months. Which political party will we invite into our bed next year?

We have had a long relationship with one of our suitors. It was a beautiful love in the beginning, but we have developed reason to doubt his loyalty.

And there is the matter of looks… he had an unsightly wart removed from his head some months ago, but the procedure left terrible scars.

To the right of him is the bloke that gets the nod from Ouma. He’s handsome and speaks a fluent, private school English. He’s prosperous and makes beautiful promises, but is he able to love someone besides himself?

The third option is a totally different cup of tea. A flashy, exciting lover with a Breitling on his wrist. But his dress sense… those red suits… ugh!

Egg, my child, the road to love is a difficult one – one on which angels fear to tread.

We all share your pain.

Dirk Lotriet. Picture: Alaister Russell

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