Johannesburg – It’s so normal to feel anxious during times of uncertainty like during this pandemic.
I’ve had my will concluded to ensure my children inherit my R500.
I’ve put my house up for sale and I hope my art collection is appreciated.
What I won’t do on my last remaining days is be disrespected by anyone. I will not be side-eyed by the lady at the till or explain why I’m exchanging goods without a receipt, as I have various hand bags, and anyway they can trace their own garments without including me.
I will not tolerate being asked out on a date by anyone younger than 30 as I can’t be dating children.
Nor will I tolerate littering outside my yard as dying in filth is unbecoming.
I will not go to church as the most cruel frequent there. You might think I’m mad, but you too should want better for yourself on your last days. People, our days are numbered and you deserve better.
You should never be seen being bought a piece of chicken – respect yourself and make him work for it by taking you to places with food you can’t pronounce. He is not after you but the honey-pot, boo.
I mean next he will be buying you iskopo. Look, these might be our last days on earth, so gather your cash and divide it among your children before your passing, ensuring you don’t tell them you have given the house to the local fake prophet.
Don’t even consider men in their 50s — go straight to the geriatrics and get yourself wed. Go to a hospice and get yourself a husband, hun, or I suppose you could wait outside most Varsity Campuses for old men searching for young blood if you are looking for quick cash.
On the topic of enjoying your last days, don’t forget to stop giving out free sex to men who claim to love you after a week.
This free sex must end as death is imminent and they just want you for your body.
Reminds me of a slay queen who thought she was taken to New York for love but it was for an orgy.
My friend agrees that all “a man wants is to slobber on you, pressing you with that nine-month looking belly and smelling of Hugo Boss for free sex.
Sure, you want sex too but not from him, unless he is paying, and yes, he will call you a prostitute but that’s fine as you won’t be listening.
“Stop giving out free sex as we are dying and need the money,” she adds.
It’s end of days, people. I’m not asking you to have transactional sex, but stop giving out free sex as you certainly can’t be dying broke.
Auction it if you want to or put it on OLX, but you are not dying dishing it out for anyone, even ladies who stand in dark corners on Oxford don’t do that.
Look sweetie, death is final, so on your last days you need the best life.
A life spent with family and surrounded by loved ones. A life you could never imagine having. Go to a spa in your Sunday best and get treatments.
What you are not going to do is go on dates that comprise three pieces of chicken.
You are not going to Bela Bela for any holiday – respect yourself.
No more group photos; you should be social distancing.
Look hun, this may be the last time I write to you, so stay safe. I’m dying not stupid.
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