Awê Ma Se Kinnes!
It’s quite terrible to live in a world where you desperately want to tell someone YOUR MOER but you can’t. And you can’t for various reasons. Maybe because it’s your boss. Maybe because it’s your teenage child. Maybe because it’s your neighbour. Or, as is the case with me, maybe because you know you will regret it when the sun comes up because you are actually just a nice person who does not want drama in his day, who does not want drama on any day, who does not want drama for the rest of his life.
For those of you who are not familiar with the term YOUR MOER – it’s a term easily heard during a heated argument in Cape Town. If you want me to get to the meaning really quickly, and please do forgive me for this if you are listening to this recording with your little darlings – actually close their ears quickly – I’ll count to six – 1 2 3 4 5 6 – for the rest of the world YOUR MOER means go fuck yourself – hello you can unblock your child’s ears now!
Social media has been my best teacher when it comes to getting me to exercise restraint. Just this morning I told someone that it is crucial that we all come to the realization that not everybody on social media has matric with exemption. And once you understand that the cousins of the three stooges are alive and well and eagerly ready to comment on your posts, you will be ok. But here’s the thing: don’t engage baby. I repeat DO NOT ENGAGE! Those people will be the reason for your arteries getting blocked.
On 3 occasions, I responded to shitty comments. They must have caught me on a Sauvignon Blanc day. Yirre. That’s the other thing man. I’ve said this a lot but I’m obviously not taking my own valuable advice – put your phone off if you move on to the second glass! Anyhoo, the point is that on all 3 occasions I felt really shit after responding. It’s mos human nature to want to “put somebody on her place”. As we so confidently boast in Cape Town – “o ek het nou lekke vir haar op haar plek gesit!”.
But the thing is that it’s often quite difficult to ignore the trolls. You have to be a well-balanced person who’s able to see the comment, quietly roll your teargas eyes and move on. Well that’s if you even READ the comments. Look, my other thing is that I actually seldom read comments for fear of stumbling upon the comment left by that one doos. Because that’s the comment that will stay in my head until maghrieb next Wednesday. Not the four hundred other nice comments. Just that one. It’s the way I’m built. So to be safe and happy. I mostly don’t go through comments. My close friends know this about me so they will usually message me if they think there’s a troll comment that needs to removed.
This happened last week when someone said I was going to burn in hell because I live with Anwar. Now of course I know that’s not true because everyone knows that gays don’t like being upstaged and Lucifer just brings wayyy too much heat. Nancy. Heaven with Aircon is more my vibe.
So of course I was asked to remove the comment after it had been sitting there for a good few hours. The beautiful thing was that she had been completely ignored by everyone else! Shame man. There’s nothing worse than being ignored. People go to therapy for stuff like that. Of course I didn’t immediately remove the comment and block her like the good Lord and all the Angels wanted me to. Instead, I had a moment of weakness and clicked on her profile. If I was a smoker, I would have at this point, sat back, lit a entjie, and slowly exhaled as I scrolled through her album, harshly criticizing every single pic of hers that I saw:
“your husband doesn’t smile on any of his pics – I also wouldn’t if I was in his shoes” / OR “jirre did you really wear that on your wedding day..shame..”…/ OR “thank goodness for facemasks – now we don’t have to look at your suur gevriet the whole day”…
Ag you know, all the normal things you say to yourself and don’t mean when people make you cross.
And they do make a person cross! Why are they making personal confrontational comments on a person’s page man – comments they would never make if they bumped into you in Shoprite. I mean seriously, there are certain things we only say to our friends in private, around the kitchen table, while putting brown sugar in the tea.
Yesterday afternoon at a coffee shop, I saw a lady at the next table with a dry hairstyle that looked like an upside down soup bowl. She was way too pretty for that do. All I wanted to do was go up to her, hug her, pay for her coffee and give her a lift to the nearest hairdresser, my treat. But I didn’t do that. Because you can’t just do that because we are civilized human beings. Mind your own business and be nice. That’s all you need to do. ON AND OFF SOCIAL MEDIA!
So ja. Back to my troll the other day. Eventually I took myself out of her profile, blocked her, prayed for her and more particularly for her husband, and carried on with my life.