Marriage and a Shower: The Answer to Life

Growing up in a school that caters to the mid and upper class means that I have been exposed to the luxuries that come with being wealthy. I have gone to birthday parties in houses bigger than my junior school hostel (which was home to every female border from grade 1-7). I have watched in awe as friends brought more and more ludicrous toys and gadgets to school and I have stayed in fancy holiday houses on golf estates on the coast.

Yes, I have been spoiled and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.

However, it is now proving to be more problematic than I originally thought as I sit up late at night wondering whether I can sell one of my kidneys (or perhaps both) in order to go on a particular diving trip or buy myself a couple presents. Being poor is not something I enjoy and budgeting my monthly income is virtually impossible.

So if anyone is looking for a kidney, mine’s for sale.

But in the mean time I really need to become wealthy and the sooner, the better. So as I sit here dreaming up ‘get rich quick’ schemes it comes to my attention that our President has the perfect scheme. He gets paid an absolutely ridiculous R3 million a year to sign a couple papers, make sure his mates are paid well and sleeps perfectly well in his comfy bed as the rest of South Africa sleeps on the tiny piece of pavement that was left when they came home from a seriously underpaying job.

And as if that wasn’t easy enough he has now fooled his homeless supporters into believing that instead of spending tax payers money on homes for people who don’t pay tax (not even going to start on that issue) he is going to spend R250 million on a beautiful homestead for his own family.

Sounds like a really tough job to me, but seeing as I am a woman and will therefore never be allowed to be the President of a country where most of the men truly believe that woman are a lesser specie; I’ve come up with an even better plan. I am going to marry him.

Sounds crazy right? Is it though? I’d be living in a beautiful home and feeding off of his rather substantial income and all I’d have to do was sleep with the idiot occasionally, followed by a shower of course (no one wants AIDS). That sounds relatively easy to me.

There’s only one problem though and that is that I am white.

Now, before you jump down my throat about the fact that I am being racist or whatever, let me give you some perspective. In a recent address by the President himself, he said that South Africa’s problems should be solved “the African way, and not the white man’s way” and yet his speaker, a certain Mr Mac Maharaj, will be the first to call you racist if you so much as mention The Presidency in a slightly critical tone.

So I do not mean to be racist when I say that my skin colour is problematic but maybe with some shoe polish I could qualify, but seeing as I can’t seem to find an application form to be his next wife at the Home Affairs office I would like to use this platform to ask President Jacob Zuma a very personal question.

“Will you marry me, sir?”