It’s a sad day when you see a gracious old king die in his sleep and even sadder when he’s deposed from his throne without a whimper by a young usurper.

Well, let all the flags in this nation of ours fly at half-mast and let there be a week of mourning. The Old Bachelor has officially called it quits; the magic is gone and its now time to look for a sword to fall upon.

Why am I getting so dramatic? Trust me, by the end of this you’ll understand. Remember how last week I was going on and on about a certain young lady I’d met when I’d gone to visit Museveni-land?

I thought I’d finally found the lady that would remove this accursed bachelorhood that I’d been living all these years. I mean, she was the ONE.

She had a CV that I simply couldn’t ignore; she was tall, curvy as one of the roads that go to Kibuye, smart enough to be architect, sharp-tongued enough to keep me on my toes and a rock fan to boot.

Now if that isn’t perfect I don’t know what is. The only thing missing was the fact that she wasn’t a Victoria’s Secret model as well; although I’m sure she’d have given those models a run for their money.

I thought I was set up for life. The only thing bugging me was how in the world I’d keep things going on at a jolly ol’ pace.

MTN was probably making more money off me last week than this entire year combined as I burnt the telephone line to Uganda, cooing away like a lovelorn teenager.

During one of these conversations she asked me if I knew a certain young lady she’d gone to high school with; I did (she studied in Butare as well) and she asked me to say hi the next time I met her.

Well, I traveled to Butare a few days back just to enjoy a night’s fun with a couple of friends down south and I met this former school mate.

I could barely keep the excitement off my voice as I told her about her friend who’d stolen my heart and kept it in a vault way over in Kampala. The look in her face gave away the fact that she was going to give me some bad news.
Was she secretly married already?

Was she a witchdoctor? All these thoughts went through my mind as I waited, with bated breath, for the blow. According to her school friend, my future wife, the love of my life was as gay as Martina Navratilova. Yes ladies and gentlemen, this young lady was a lesbian!

I couldn’t believe it. How could I, the alpha male I am, not be able to tell? Something must be wrong with the radar because such scandals would have never happened before.
So here is the plan…until I can find out why my ‘lady radar’ is going haywire I’ll have to avoid the girls for a while. With my radar down I simply can’t risk it…I might end up like Ronaldo (the Brazilian). He went out to party with a bunch of ‘girls’ and found out later that they were men in skirts!

Contact: madogz2002@yahoo.ca