Friday was the final to the Standard Bank Pro20 tournament, and thanks to @CobrasCricket, we got some tickets to the sold out show. Despite the local police blocking off roads without telling anyone etc, including stadium management, we got to the gates and went looking for our tickets.
The great thing about Africa, is that everything is an adventure. From the Serengeti, to the Okavango to standing in a queue. While I waited to collect tickets, my spidey senses told me that someone was in my space. Everyone has experienced that gentle weight of a buxom African woman’s wallet/breasts on their shoulders in a queue, but this was a little different.
This was a little lower. What I was feeling gently caressing my nether regions was a short guys crotch pencil. I turned to him and had the most stimulating conversation:
Me: Are you in a hurry?
CP (Crotch Pencil): What? Why? No.
Me: Then could you give me a little space?
CP: What? F**k. What the f**k? What’s your problem?
Me: You’re leaning against my butt.
CP: F**k you, what the f**k.
Me: That’s what I’m worried about. Are you trying to have sex with me?
CP: F**k, what’s with the f**king attitude? F**k man.
Me: I normally get dinner before getting this intimate with someone.
You get the gist. And in all this time, he never stepped back or moved or anything. Or buy me dinner. Luckily I eventually found the Mitchells Brewery little stand behind the Presidents Pavilion so I could calm myself and concentrate on balls of a different kind.