I always wondered why presumably ‘good’ girls dated ‘bad’ boys. Was it the thrill of doing something bad that excited them, or is it that they’d mastered the art of public facade masked with private despair?
My good friend is in the exact predicament. She’s the church-mouse type. She dresses like a nun and I swear to you, doesn’t own one single pair of jeans. Jeans attract sin to your body and your body is a holy temple, she believes. I kid you not. She’s head of choir, hosts chama meetings at her house and bakes cookies for her church peeps. Her cookies are to-die-for. Her choice of man however, isn’t.
See, she’s in love with an alcoholic. But she would never out rightly say that he’s ‘alcoholic’. “He just likes to turn up like every single day, you know?” she defends him. But we all know that he’s alcoholic. I mean, the guy’s eyes are red as tomato paste. He reeks of stale wheat and his entire life is a mess! But she swears he loves her. Then she confesses that he’d actually promised her that he’d go to rehab, but his friends had derailed him and gave him anti-depressants instead.
I chuckle. Well, it was more of a loud deep howl at how ridiculous she sounded. “First of all babe, you just told me he’s not alcoholic. Then now you’re telling me his friends ‘derailed’ him from rehab?” I enquired.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a bad friend. By far. I’m just the ‘lets-keep-it-real’ friend. And if we’re keeping it real, I think that she LOVES the attention that the bad boy turned alcoholic boyfriend gives her.
I mean let’s admit it, church boys are seemingly boring. They talk about praising God and having coffee after a ‘family’ meeting. You know of those family meetings, right? The ones where people meet up an hour after the main sermon every Sunday to talk about life while seated in a circle (kind of resembling an AA meeting, minus the religion talk).
The bad boy is way more delightful. He makes the church girl do more spontaneous things like sneaking out to the club for a night out. She like it when the guy makes fun of her for drinking Fanta as opposed to taking liquor. She likes the way the bad boy makes her feel special and ‘not like the other dirty girls who drink and lose respect for themselves’. The church girl swoons over the praises.
They also make out. And touch. But it never gets to third base. Sometimes the bad boy hits second base, but never third. Nah-ah, says the church girl. “That’s only reserved for when we get married,” she flirts at her alcoholic-not-alcoholic boo. He smiles and agrees with her. She falls deeper in love. She knows he’s a player, but she wants to be the girl who makes him hang up his jersey and quit the game.
What she ceases to understand is that while she’s busy dangling the carrot with him, having her cake and eating it. Oblivious to our poor church girl, while she ‘revs’ him up, he ‘relieves’ himself with the ‘bad girls’. You know, the ones the church girl doesn’t approve of? Because they engage in ‘premarital sex’ and ‘drink alcohol’ and ‘dance in clubs’ with boys. God forbid if she was ever caught hanging out with such girls! She also forces smiles at the church boys hitting on her. She’d rather love a sinner than a saint – the sinners are more fun.
Her irony is as blue as day. It’s the dream of religious romance and the allure of risqué at arm’s length that makes these two ‘glue’ together.
But it’s the non-stick type of glue. Because theirs is a grenade that sits dormant until the inevitable happens. He might eventually get to third base and impregnate her or she could find him cheating on her when all the while she had believed that theirs was eternal.
This is the classic tale of the saint loving a sinner. But always remember, life isn’t black and blue. It’s got all shades of grey in it. After all, better to be an open sinner than a false saint.