When No Means Yes...
You know – there are things in this life that you swear never to do again – never, never, never. Some of these vows are easily reached – like that time when, in an epileptic fit of blind rage, you picked the forest as your permanent abode, precisely because mum had forfeited your supper to her cattle that you had lost. Or that other year when you ruled that radio should become an eternal no-no, for its unredeemable sin of voting Dembo fourth on the ’94 charts. Number four! What abomination! Simple decisions, made on the spur of the moment; of course you knew you were lying to yourself. But there some precedents, whether made on the turn or after careful musing, that leave a permanent mark. Yea; they thought it was a joke when I just upped one day and realised that the slimy green leaf called okra sliding down my throat was just as bad for my masculine metabolism as a conscious gobsmacking gobbling of phlegm. It’s not that I’m allergic to okra. Hell, no. I just loathe it – there are