The Ghanaian Journal

Article By: Lucy Hunt

I really have been the brainchild of many a bright decision lately.

Two weeks ago I was in unrequited lust with my business partner. Since then I have slowly but surely convinced myself that my fantasised union of us both, was never really going to work out.

I got bored of the whole scenario: me liking him and him not liking me back.

The decision was made; I moved on, and I am most proud of myself. Only I have completely replaced this sensible option for something even more futile and foolish.

I have gone and fallen completely head over heels in perpetual infatuation with my holiday fling. Who does that?

Losing control

I am almost embarrassed by my usually very-disciplined lack of control — especially when it comes to a holiday fling.

I’ve had plenty of holiday flings. Holiday romances are fun; they’re had in the easiest of circumstances. You’re relaxed; it’s usually in hedonistic surroundings like snowy glaciers or palm-fringed beaches. It usually involves far too many mountain schnapps or Sex-On-The-Beach cocktails. You’re tanned; he has a rugged five o’ clock holiday shadow, and you’re dying for a shag.

Then after a night of questionable passion, or maybe even a follow up, featuring round two the next night, you fly back home and carry on as normal.

Usually you feel nothing for these people, because you don’t know them. You barely remember whether they had chest hair or not. It’s just a bit of holiday fun. The cherry on top of a great break, basically.

So what went wrong this time? I met my holiday shag while I was enjoying a lovely dinner with friends in the blissful Mediterranean mezze platter of Mallorca Island.

After a few glasses of wine, I suddenly noticed an amazingly good looking man sitting diagonally opposite from me (’has he been sitting there the whole time?’). We caught each other’s eye, and there was an undeniable I-Need-To-See-You-Naked- And-On-Top-Of-Me spark. I knew that in about two minutes, this guy would have me up against an ancient wall, trying to locate my tonsils with his tongue.

After countless sangria watering cans, and endless snogging, openly, very Europeanly, very adolescent-like, in the streets, we headed to his suite and the rest, as they say, was sweaty.

Oceans apart

The next day I had to fly back home. My life returned to normal, inclusive of very sombre business meetings with the colleague I still fancied. Next thing, up on my Skype pops my holiday shag’s name, and before you know it, we’re chatting to each other all day, every day.

My productivity plummeted to an almost instant all-time low, and meetings became a real drag because all I wanted to be was in front of my computer; talking to him. Before I knew it, I had acquired a digital flirt pal. I told him my whole life story, he told me his. We were in complete sync; I was loving this guy. We made each other laugh tears, but… hang on a minute. He lived in Spain.

Slight problem.

Not Durban or Cape Town; the man lives in Madrid. I was suddenly very aware of how unsociable I was going to get if I pursued an online relationship with a man who lives 12 000 kilometres away and who’ve I’ve really only seen for 24 hours of my entire life. The odds of ever seeing him again, never mind actually getting past the cyber sex phase was one in five gazillion.

Panic: I was falling in e-love with an Emoticon. Something that talked back to me on a screen, but I knew was devilishly handsome and had a large penis. Sometimes his typing tone was amazing, but then I realise how unbelievably pathetic that actually sounds.

Some people date their computers. Online dating is an acceptable form of co- existence these days apparently. I don’t think I’m cut out for it; I need to be touched, frankly. Perhaps one day if I ever go to Spain, I’ll look him up. Perhaps if he ever visits South Africa, we could go on safari together. And I’d show him how it’s done on top of a Land Rover bonnet.

In the meantime, it’s not worth putting myself through the heartache. I am going to force myself to turn off my computer when I am not working and perhaps join a salsa class.

I think that may be more sensible.