Love.

That intense feeling of deep affection. That feeling of just wanting to spend every moment with the object of your fascination. Finding ways of casually slipping their name into every conversation. They are just there: always, and in every thought. Spending hours fretting over whether that person feels the same way you do – not to mention how many daisies lost their petals answering the eternal question of He loves me; He loves me not? They become your priority. You crave their presence. You find their quirks attractive. You simply feel the love all around you.

Too many songs have been written and recorded on the topic. There is “That crazy little thing called love”, by Queen. Foreigner wanted to know want to know what love is. Lionel Richie found endless Love. First Elvis was falling in love with you, then UB 40 came along and stole the love from Elvis. And the Beatles just love, love me do.

Why all this talk of love, you ask? Well, we have just celebrated Valentines Day. Now, if I were to be truthful, I would have to confess that I find the whole Valentines day thing a huge waste of everything one could waste on a day like that. I just don’t get it, and hope never to get it, either. But life has a way of showing you who is boss, and it so happens that Colin and I had our very first date on Valentines Day, all those years ago. It had very little to do with romance. It is simply that both of us found ourselves living and working in Botswana. Now anyone who has in some way or another experienced Expat life will know that any excuse to have a shindig is a good excuse. It is said that you attract what you dislike or fear most. A cat will always cozy up to that one person who dislikes cats or get allergies from them. A dog will always bark at a terrified child. I dislike Valentine’s day, so what did I get? My first date with my other half, the one who makes me whole again.

But enough of that. The truth is, Valentines or not, I find myself deeply in love. I asked Aunty Google to give me the words to discern what being in love means. It is all there, in the opening paragraph. Now, being a great supporter of checklists (I have one for everything) so that I do not forget or miss something, here goes my love checklist.

• That feeling of just wanting to spend every moment with the object of your fascination. Need milk and bread. No problem, I can pop out, and take the back road past the beach. It is a very narrow road, which is exceptionally busy now, but if I drive slowly and crane my neck, I can just spot that gorgeous lump of grey blubber on the beach.
• Finding a way of slipping their name into every conversation. Hello neighbour, yes a fine day indeed. Have you been down to the beach to see Buffel yet?
• You find their quirks attractive. The way he flicks the sand over his body!

Yup, you get it.

Our oldest son, who is a bit of a Doubting Thomas, likes to doubt my version of events. He will always find a way to fact check my statements. There I was, giving my best poetic description of Buffel, describing his greatness. Dad, Son wants to know, how long is this seal? Oh, my sweet revenge when Colin answered he must be about 3 meters long, if not more. How much do you think he weighs, asks Son, still trying to quantify my description. Oh, 2 tons, you recon? Really? What were you thinking? Did you seriously think I would waste my affection on something that claps flippers at a Ball and Seal show?

Long story short. I am still fascinated by that very big seal. So, you may recall from last week that I shared that males do grow a long nose which resembles a short trunk and that this proboscis is considered a secondary sexual characteristic. It is used to produce a loud, roaring noise, especially during mating season. Seal ladies find it irresistible. Saturday, we were down on the beach again to see how Buffel was getting on. (There! I managed to slip his name into conversation!) Standing at the barrier tape, I had such a lovely view of his face. As if on cue, he opened his eyes, which are surprisingly big and very brown, and noisily breathed out, causing this little nose-trunk to flap about and make a….OK, I would love to say a LOVE roar, but in fact, it sounded like a prolonged wet fart in the sand. But it does not matter. To me, it was a moment to treasure. Seriously, I can’t get enough of him, and I am, along with half the town, making the most of having him as our very special guest.

When I was a teenager, Combis (aka the Volkswagen Minibus), were referred to as a “Passion Wagon.” You can figure this one out for yourself. As a teen, I never did see the inside of one of these vehicles. Many years later, Colin and I had friends. Once a month, the four of us would go on a “couples date.” We would leave our teenage children to fend for themselves, and we would see a movie, or go out for a meal. We would take turns planning the evening. On one of these outings, our friends arrived at our house. They drove a Combi. But what makes this really funny, is that our friends decided to make the trip “romantic” and had placed those little battery-operated tea lights on the floor, put the back seat down, and played Barry White music, as we drove to wherever it was we were going to. And for that reason, I can never just simply walk past a Combi, without a little smile pulling at my lips.

So, when we spotted this one (in the photo above), I could hear Barry White crooning about not getting enough of your love, Babe! I wonder what I did with that little plastic candle that I kept from that evening. Buffel may need it. There is nothing easy about impressing (seal) ladies.