Mad Woman On The Pavement

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I’m very happy when I see someone on the pavement smiling to himself or herself. It must be a happy thought about money. It is anticipated or it has already landed in the bank account. No. I’m not materialistic. I’m realistic.

No money, no love. Remember when you were re-sized, down-sized, re-trenched, laid off or plain fired? Remember the transformation in the eyes of people under that roof called home? Warm embers turned to raging fires.

That’s why I believe money causes smiling alone in public. I’m relieved actually, because I was conditioned that you don’t smile or talk to yourself in public. It will be misconstrued as madness. She has lost her marbles, gone bonkers. Why can’t I smile to myself, for myself if I just inherited a million dollars from Uncle Dimitri, who was the only black man in Alaska?

There’s nothing wrong with smiling alone. It’s one of the things that makes kids adorable. We check on the sleeping flower and find her with a smile on her non-tax-paying face. I wish I was a baby, but I blew it. Wait! I know what the problem is. It’s not self-smiling on the road that is the problem. It’s the reception. It is a two-way street. The action must be seen by somebody else, who then interprets it as a smile. It’s like a singles tennis match between Canadian Auger Aliassime and Holger Rune the Danish tennis star. One serves, the other one cannot return it. It is perceived as a great shot.

Talking to yourself on the road is a completely different matter. It is some sandpaper that cannot wait for you to get home to remove it from your mind. Life has its ups and downs.

Nonqaba waka Msimang

Executive Blogger

 

 

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