There is a saying that I’ve heard about a certain lucky chap and it went something like this; "whenever that guy steps in a bucket of s**t, he comes out smelling like a bouquet of roses”!

If you where wondering who that lucky fellow was, let me introduce him…ME. I’ve been in so many situations that should have ended badly but somehow, things end up being okay.

I don’t know whether its ‘mother luck or juju’ but all I know is that, if I have a guardian angel ( as I truly believe that I do) the poor fellow is probably the most overworked angel south of the Sahara and north of the Limpopo.

Have you ever sat down and wondered why in the world you’ve never been to hospital?

It doesn’t make sense; you drug yourself silly with tobacco, alcohol (and sometimes more illicit substances), you travel everywhere on the maniacal taxi moto’s, you eat junk food and never do exercise (slow dancing with a girl isn’t a sport…nor is drinking).

But do you ever get your just deserts? Nope. But if you look right, left and center a whole bunch of goody two-shoes are suffering ignominious lives. It ain’t fair…and that’s the beauty of it all.

Why am I going on and on about this subject? Because I was hit by a bolt of lighting last Friday. A prominent member of my crew, the Ugly Munkiz, had a house warming party at his casa (that’s Spanish for y’all do haven’t a clue).

Unlike my fete, this one didn’t have a single female but that didn’t stop us. There was plenty Waragi and, trust me, it had us loose tongued in a jiffy.

Gossip is all hunky-dory but we are heterosexual males; we needed women…and the closest place was the usual Friday hangout-Papyrus Lounge.

We got there around 1am, got beers at the counter, got a table and continued gossiping…all the while, eyeing the passing beauties.

I made a move on one, got her name and CV and returned to the table. That’s when one of the most notorious Munkiz saw one of the loveliest ladies I’d ever seen.

I’d never gotten a chance to introduce myself because I always assumed that we weren’t compatible linguistically. The other chap, however, could speak French like a native. But enough was enough…I’d done a course in French a few years back and it was time to flex my Gallic muscles.

I sauntered up to them and introduced myself…in English. Thank God and alleluia…she could speak my tongue…that’s when I got a shock. "Are you a writer, she asked. I answered in the affirmative.

"I heard that you wrote about me, she said, what did you write?”

I first tried to brush her off but she had pretty good sources. All that was going on in my head was, "I’m so screwed!”

That’s when she surprised me…first of all, she sounded more amused than angry…she asked me to send her the article via email, gave me her number….and then, wonders never cease, agreed to a date.

Trust me, by that time I was working on autopilot. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘swimming in your eyes’? I thought it was hogwash…not any more.

Do you want to know her name and what I wrote about her… re-read the column I wrote on July, 20.

Contact: madogz2002@yahoo.ca