It is the month of love. A month to have giddy feelings in your chest. That time of the year to walk on sunshine. The season where your heart pumps faster. That time when red and black paint the town. It is also my worst time of year. I’m alone you see and there’s no better reminder of this than this season.
Hi, my name is Uganda and I’m single and looking for love. It hasn’t always been this way; I’ve had a number of suitors but it has always ended in heartbreak. Hold on, don’t jump to conclusions yet. It isn’t me, it’s them. I’m hot you see. Literally and metaphorically. I’ll let those big words linger-see, my English isn’t the problem either. I’ve been called a pearl before. I have quite a bit of talent. I’m polite and hospitable. I have lots of resources. I just don’t get it.
Strange thing is, it always starts out nicely-the stuff fairy tales are made of. The suitor shows up with a pen or gun and I’m handed over to him. At this point my guard is usually up-I know his kind and I have no time for games. He however, wastes no time and promises me everything. He doesn’t put his best foot forward, he literally hurls his best side forward and does a creative dance for effect. A few radical moves later, I’m sold. My heart skips. This is it. This really is it! I know I should know better but hope and I are joined at the hip.
I’m now a bit older. And wiser, I guess. I know I’m not quite the prize chicken I once was (stories about me back then used only superlatives. Today, not so much) but hope hasn’t completely left. She’s shriveled now from being beat down so often but she’s still there. Bruised, unwilling to lift her head but still there.
So this is me, turning to the classifieds. I know how low this is but at the rate things are going, I’m not sure I can leave things to chance anymore. I’m turning to my children; love needed. My garden could do with some tending. I could do with a trip to the salon or a few words of encouragement even. Show me some love.