Recently I had a very inspiring chat with Kgebetli. We were talking about a woman author who Kgebetli said was complaining that
Now, my take is that, first of all that you are a celebrated author does not make you an intellectual, it makes you a storyteller. There’s no difference between you and the old woman sitting under a thatched roof in some god-forsaken-drought-stricken village telling folk-tales to grandchildren of the village. She is a storyteller, period, not intellectual. Personally I have two poetry books but I still don’t consider myself an intellectual – but a poet.
Now, the point here is not to dissect intellectual which my very informed dictionary defines as ‘of or associated with or requiring the use of the mind’. This makes us all intellectuals I guess or this definition bloody shallow.
But then we tried to dissect her claim of men’s fear of intellect. First we agreed that she’s not the type of chick you would go to the J&B Met or SAMA Awards with, she’s nice, fine, has got finesse but not really a sight for sore eyes.
Then we looked at the fact that she’s an artist as we are known for being too full of ourselves and being seriously ego-centric. Artists enjoy the echo of their own voices and hearing themselves speak non-stop that’s why they record CDs, DVDs and like to perform infront of many people. They love the sound of their own voices and all the attention they can get. So, two ‘intellectuals’ – to use her phrase – can not enjoy each’s company since the guy will be trying to convince the woman that he’s a worthy screw because he can interrogate Franz Fanon and the woman will be trying to prove that her depth is beyond Oprah’s. They’ll all be seeking each’s attention.
Okay, it’s only that it will be a battle of egos but also because for a date to work there needs to be givers and takers.
I then explained that my take of her is that of a chick who if I found her in a bar and offered to buy her a drink she will be quick telling me that she will pay for herself as if I was insinuating she can’t afford. For god’s sake how dull can I be when I found you in a bar Mami!
We discussed and it came to a point that I told Kgebetli, “look, when I offer to buy a chick a drink, either coffee, tea, juice or beer it’s not to buy her attention but to break the ice. I’ll be monitoring how she tears the sugar sachet, how many sugars she drinks, whether she leaves the teaspoon in the cup after stirring and risk gorging her eye out of the eyeball and how much milk she uses which will inform my point of departure”, I said.
My friend, who likes to believe that I’m one of the most intelligent folks he has befriended even though he has award-winning Room 207 under his belt then asked why would I take personal offence if she volunteered to pay for herself, worse with a credit card while I had a crumpled R50 note in the back of my jeans?
“First of all we are not on an ego battle to see who’s got a deeper pocket than the other. Even if I wanted to chat Dr Precious Motsepe I’d still offer to buy her a drink, even though I know she’s got more money on her left pinkie than my whole family’s savings and policies combined. I don’t care that your husband was on the cover of Forbes Magazine and he’s a dollar billionaire, don’t insist on paying for your own drink when I’m the host”
Now, ladies, here lies the problem; don’t try to be cocky Mami, I meet millions of cocky self-centred-loaded to the balls men in my life I can do with a humble yet decisive woman who doesn’t take shit. And paying for your own drink because you thought me paying might be a prelude to me asking for a smooch is just not on, I’ll ask for a smooch even if you just spent R23000 at