Carol’s Column

Love’s but the frailty of mind

This column is written for intended lovers throughout South Africa. Shared knowledge is always helpful. For those who might be wondering, this is not a column about the necessity of wearing condoms for safe sex.

If you don't, then you're a cretinous halfwit. No, this is an explanation for the state of mind and body that precedes love.

For instance, eye contact is usually the first sign of attraction between two people. Eyes meet and pupils dilate and a quick little message shoots to the brain saying: "Yum, I like this. I want more."

The brain, that cunning little organ, is meanwhile sending messages to the rest of your body, these in turn dash to your heart, which beats faster, your blood pressure increases, as does your breathing rate. Thus you feel breathless.

The object of your desire draws nearer, your legs get weak. Actually, it's because the brain needs extra oxygen for concentration.

All this activity causes increased body heat. You touch, and like slippery sardines, hands can't grasp because of excess sweat.

Butterflies of joy you're feeling in your stomach are part of the same excitement. Because you're overjoyed, energy which is usually helping digest your last meal is now used by your brain. It needs extra oxygen to work out what's going on.

In case you didn't know, flushed cheeks, which occur at the sight of your beloved, are from a combination of intense excitement and expectation as blood rushes brainwards, then to the face.

I read all this in a little booklet imaginatively called "The Meaning of Love".

And I share it with lovers because it is always useful to know what to expect when struck by the figurative arrow.

Only yesterday, the bell rang. I opened the door and made eye-to-eye contact with a stranger. Actually, I could feel my eyes dilating, but I think they were saying "what's this about", not "I like what I see", because he seemed to be holding a summons.

"Are you Carol Lazar?" he asked.

My legs went weak as my blood left them and shot to my head.

"I'm Flip van Tonder," he said "and I've brought you a little surprise." He laughed.

It was a traffic summons.

My hands were too sticky with sweat to take the proffered summons and so it slipped from my grasp. I could feel my stomach churning, my cheeks flushing.

Was this passion or peritonitis?

I looked at the summons through my dilated eyes — R30 for parking in a loading zone.

It was definitely peritonitis.

I have a postscript for lovers. Don't believe a thing you read anywhere.

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