Love It Or Leave It

Private Property South Africa
Andre Fiore

I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager. Well actually, I was just 13 and he was a singer in a band. On TV. He dressed in pastels and wore pale shoes, and after we’d chatted (briefly) at a cousin’s mother’s function, he promised to call. I didn’t sleep for weeks willing the phone to ring. Staring at it silently. Until with time, heartbreak crept in and still he hadn’t called.

Actually I have felt like that since. The time I went back to get that frock, the one I’d stashed behind the others at the sale, only to find someone else had dug deeper and got it before I returned. I actually saw her at the cashier, just where I should have been standing. She must have been a tourist. And it didn’t suit her anyway.


Either way, the feeling was the same. And today I’ve felt like that all over again. After hours of searching every property in the ’hood, and forcing myself through sites unsightly, I discovered my dream home.

And let me tell you it wasn’t an easy journey. One doesn’t expect to be forced to curse, alone, in the privacy of one’s own home. I am the very first to admit that I’m not very e-wise, but when it comes to visiting sites that keep on forgetting what you asked in the first place it becomes very trying.

For example, on one site I filled in all the suburbs I was interested in, and every time I viewed a house and went back to see another, I had to reload the info all over again. Much like medical aid and hospitals. They keep your info so secret that you have to fill it out afresh if you so much as move a toe, they store it on systems so sophisticated that they’re not able to access it again, yet they manage to sell those same details in a blitz when there’s a perk in sight.

Broken hearted

But that wasn’t what broke my heart today. Despite having my patience tried by filling in standard-grade forms and looking at houses that made me want to weep, I did find one that mesmerised me.

It had everything a girl could want, and more. It was close to my friends, close to the shops and close to the golf course (elementary trip him for him). It had beauty enough to make me fall for it, and yet potential enough for me to spend on it. As directed by the site, I sent the agent a text and an email, and I called. None of which he responded to. I waited long and patiently, leaping like that pale teenager every time the phone rang and it wasn’t him. But in the end, he did call. Gruffly. And I explained which property it was, reference number in sweaty palm. And he callously said it had been sold. Months ago.

Surely to temper ladies like me, they could have popped a “sold” banner onto it? Teach me not to stray away from the Private Property website again I guess.

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