Carol’s Column

To hunt a man you need a drip-dry wig

AGNES Thwatch has found a man.

At last, after all these years. And the whole town's buzzing.

“Did you hear about Agnes Thwatch?” asked my good friend Betty when she phoned me the other morning.

I adjusted my dentures and hearing aid and plugged in. “No, what about Agnes Thwatch?” I asked curiously.

“She's run away with a 24-year-old stock farmer from Nylstroom or something like that.”

“Good heavens!” I was suitably impressed.

“Where did she find him and what's he like?” I asked (not a remarkable question, if you know Agnes. All two metres and 200kg of her).

“Apparently,” said Betty, warming to the subject, “she advertised in that farming magazine — you know, the one that comes out weekly.

“She'd tried everything else — date clubs, singles clubs, computer dating, everything, without success. And then, while having her moustache waxed at the beautician's, she overheard somebody in the next cubicle talking about this magazine.

“So, being a resourceful kind of a girl, as soon as the wax was dry, she rushed out and bought herself one.”

“A man?”

“Oh, Carol, don't be ridiculous. A magazine! And there, among the 'personals' she met her Mister Right. It seems that, in the countryside, there are just hundreds of lonely bachelors languishing among their pig pens and cow sheds, waiting for Miss Right to come into their lives.”

I was intrigued by the story, so, after I'd dusted the dogs and swept the keyholes, I rushed out to buy a copy of this extraordinary magazine.

It seemed there were no end to the possibilities available.

'Libran, ex-Rhodesian gentleman, dark hair, blue eyes, seeks attractive, single girl, 24 — 52, to possibly share my home in Klerksdorp. Photograph, if possible, please. My interests are music, sheep shearing, outdoor life, camping and candlelight dinners — 35 and single, Klerksdorp.'

Or 'Where is my companion? Are you kind, big-hearted, 50 — 75, and lonely like me? Well, here is a presentable lady of 50, no family, no children, no dogs or cats, divorced, nature-loving, with a heart for animals and an appetite for loving — Gertie, Pontdrif.'

It seemed that someone in Cradock was having problems. 'Wanted, English or Afrikaans-speaking, well-established farmer, 40 — 50, to provide fulfilment, laughter, companionship and love to attractive divorcée with seven daughters who are all used to the good things in life — Good Farming Stock, Cradock.'

But the one I really fancied was 'Professional farmer, millionaire, 44, good-looking, 1,78m, widely travelled, interested in indoor sports, flying, seeks attractive lady under 44, as travel companion to fun places, on camping trips and safaris. Personal status irrelevant, recent photograph, please — Bushbaby, Okavango.'

Goodness, I thought to myself, if it wasn't for the fact that I was married with four children, two contact lenses and an acrylic drip-dry wig, I'd write to him myself.

I mean, a millionaire? If personal status was irrelevant, he could keep us all, even my husband, in a manner to which we could easily become accustomed.

That night, as I sat at the dining room table and watched my happy little family throwing food, answering in monosyllables, disgruntled and grouchy as usual, I couldn't help wondering what kind of indoor sports Bushbaby, Okavango was interested in.

Perhaps he played scrabble. Just imagine, while we floated around the world on the QE2 we could scrabble together in the stateroom.

Later, I looked at myself critically in the bathroom mirror. From a distance and under a thick coat of steam from the hot water, I really didn't look too bad. Perhaps Bushbaby, Okavango liked women with character instead of beauty. Besides, from front on, my nose didn't look nearly so long.

I asked Betty if she thought I should write to Bushbaby, Okavango.

“Of course, Carol,” she said without hesitation. “What an opportunity — anyway, if you don't have him, I will.”

The letter took a long time to write and I posted it three weeks ago. It said:

'Dear Bushbaby, Okavango,

I am just what you've been waiting for. I am not a millionaire, but, then, with your money, it doesn't matter. I'm not bad looking and when I was young I was an actress. (I took the part of Caesar's ghost in the school play.) I love ALL indoor sports, especially ping-pong and squash, and I can't wait to go on safari with you, my husband (you did say personal status was irrelevant), four children, three dogs, one cat, two goldfish, two contact lenses and acrylic drip-dry wig. — High flyer, Parkwood.'

I still haven't heard from Bushbaby, Okavango.

I can't think why.

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