Some people are easier to stay mad at than others.

Take the Sperm Donor for instance. I don’t think I will ever remotely like him, let alone cease despising him; despite being divorced from him for 18 years – which is a lifetime compared to how long we were even together for.

I never look at old photos of us, in fact the only pictures remaining are our wedding shots and I gave Star the album years ago to do with it as he sees fit. Other than those ancient pics, there are no reminders of me ever having been with him at all.

And no, Star does not remind me of him at all. Thank all the gods, goddesses and other heavenly beings that my darling son is nothing like his father. The only similarity is their height and since I’m a shorty myself, I will take the credit for that.

People unlucky enough to know the SD have mentioned that Star looks like his father, but the only time that I see the resemblance is when Star is in a very bad mood and about to throw one of his once in a decade tantrums. Star is a very chilled and laid back guy, unlike his highly-strung bad tempered violent father stranger.

Star is very much his own person, and doesn’t even take after me much either; which is also a good thing because who wants a moody, highly emotional, slightly mentally off-balance son?

Moving on.

I received some good news regarding the SD via Mix over the weekend, to say that he has left the country. He, wifey and their two kids have moved to whence she comes, and so I don’t ever have to worry about bumping into him. And since I have no plans of ever visiting Namibia, it’s all good.

All that said and done, that was not the point of my post, other than to highlight the fact that SD is the one person out my life that remains persona non grata.  I will never forget what he did to Star and I, and I chose not to think about it; but I also find it impossible to forgive him. And that remains my burden to bear.

This brings me back to Suits.  Whilst he never physically hurt me [he is actually one of the most tender people I know]; he did more than steal from me [a video machine is one thing, but a vehicle puts the theft into a whole different bracket!]; he utterly shuttered my trust and faith; especially as when I took him not even his own family would have him.

His friends had turned their backs on him; band members and managers wouldn’t have him within 100 yards of their homes and I was the only person willing to help him out. I gave him a roof over his head; hell he even had his own fully furnished room; he was fed three times a day and he had free use of a car. I never asked for anything in return other than the expectation of not to be screwed over!

So having to go through the trauma of not knowing where he was for two weeks, envisioning him dead in a ditch – and yes, I was more worried about him than my car, initially anyway – I was very relieved when he finally turned up alive. However it took several intense interrogations to find out what actually happened to my car.

The first story was that he had been hi-jacked on his way home from the gig. This didn’t explain his two week absence, but since he had all his limbs I was no longer worried about him, so I asked if Suits had been to the police station – he said he had, and so off I went to the Hillbrow Police Station to get the case number in order to notify the insurance company. Only to find that no case had been opened, because he hadn’t in fact been hijacked.

After much pleading and begging for the truth, he finally confessed that he had been on a drug binge, and because he didn’t have the money to pay the dealer back for all the stock he took; he offered them my car so as to prevent them from taking a limb or two.

I didn’t doubt this story, as unfortunately I have had enough experience [not my own] of what these guys are capable of. My brother’s childhood best friend was thrown out of The Sands Hotel in Hillbrow for not paying up. Needless to say he did not survive the fall. [The story eventually found its way onto Carte Blanche].

So how does a single petite twenty-something-year-old white girl retrieve her CitiGolf from big black blood-thirsty Nigerians?

Well, she calls for Black-Up of course.

Would you be surprised to learn that Harmony has the digits of a bona fide mercenary on speed dial?

Would you be even more shocked to know that he was an ex-boyfriend?

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