I met a girl; a very beautiful girl. And before we even got to know each other, we had a big problem on our hands: I think we liked each other very much.

Of course, I know that Hon. Mafabi will not call us over it in his killer CHOGM probe, but that makes it worse. If there was a way liking someone you are not supposed to love would provoke landslides, we would be safer from each other.

But we are not, especially me. For when she suggested, no, demanded that I get tickets for the World Cup in South Africa, I smiled broadly and called it a good idea. Good idea! Ordinarily, I would have chocked on my oxygen, gasped for air and made a mental note to pull out my troops. But I did not! And what is worse, I have caught myself thinking about the World Cup with her! Isn’t that suicide?!

What happened to the credit crunch when all our defences were guarded and any reference to financial matters would provoke an automatic system shutdown? Even Lent is no longer helpful. I remember those days when no amount of beauty could make me look twice. I would bellow in Jesus’ wilderness voice: Get behind me Satan! And when people would get distracted with Bududa for instance, I would then sneak behind myself to find the beautiful Satan there and we would have fun without fear or favour. And those were the days when Lent was so scaring that we would have to go to penance thereafter. Priests of these days are not busy because if we all went to penance for the corruption in this country, who would remain behind to eat NSSF money? Maybe the ministers who are too busy to remember the answers the CHOGM probe intends to ask them.

So, I was telling you about this woman …, No! I think I was talking about myself actually because I do not know much about her, not even her name. I only know that she likes me because when I was dropping her home, she advised me not to walk her to her door. She said she was in those days when a woman is useless to a man (using her words), and advised me to call her next week and that I would not regret it. Then she gave me that look and hoped gracefully out of my vehicle.

Tell me, ladies and gentlemen, what greater trouble is there? I had not even said anything about those things men say when they are hunting. I wish the sexual network poster told us how to jump out. But I remember deciding to die if I have to.

Then I woke up. Darn! How could I be so vulnerable in my dreams? But am I relieved? Sort of, not like an Arsenal just after thrashing Porto 5-0, but like the Prime Minister who crash lands in a hospital compound. But before I praise God, I have a silent question for him: Where is that woman?

I wrote this article to prove to those who read up to this point that even when there is nothing to write about, I can keep you with me. I promise to tell you the trick if you can show me my dream woman.