My Girlfriend Is Fat And Ugly Man

My girlfriend is fat and ugly man. 

Ooh, she is ugly.

She has hips the size of Luanda, a big flat African nose, thick black lips, puffy clean-shaven legs and a butt about the size of Bujumbura.

Be careful around her man: do not ask her if she is expecting a baby. See her flat stomach did not make it past her second year at UCT.

But I dig her bro; I dig her big time. I dig her feminine way of life.

I love the fullness of her bounteous hips and shapely curves and the raw touch of her earthly soul and heavenly heart.

I adore the authenticity of her simple but complex emotions. I forever marvel at the infectiousness of her big, warm smile.

The subtle feel of just knowing her humbles me.

I value the thought of her knowing me and treasure the thought of just being around her.

Being her around when she cries with unadulterated joy and winces in sheer pain.

Being around her when she smiles out of love for life.

Being around when she has nothing to say.

I crave the innocence of her womanly charms and impulses.

Every day I yearn for the intricacy of catching her attention for a second.

Every night I crave the sophistication of her needs and wants.

I will not deceive this incredible love of hers.

I will not lie about the continual influence she has on me.

I am unashamedly smitten with her humanity.

Ooh I love her big time bro.

I love her ridiculously hip selfies and passionate posts on Facebook.

She loves herself some Nina Simone.

She is crazy about SZA.

But she is my K-Michelle.

She is my very own Lupita.

Seeing my baby for the first time felt so familiar though.

We had a moment in time that spanned a summer of hearty fascination.

My heart flickered for a second and I could not move.

She blushed and smiled for a minute.

What was a man to do in the heat of a moment that was simply divine?

Seeing her for the first time felt heavily scripted.

She looked so fresh and angelic.

Yet I had not auditioned for the love-struck part that followed our chance encounter.

But now that we have come this far, this show must go on for a while longer.

Because I love her and she loves me man.

She loves excellent conversation about all things bright and beautiful.

She is all about that Jozi life man. She loves low cut-tops and designer sunglasses.

She loves Panda.

She loves exquisite Italian and French cuisines.

So we do breakfasts in Braamfontein on Saturday mornings and eat five star gourmet lunches in Melville on Saturday afternoons and sip virgin piña coladas in Maboneng Precinct whenever she is in the mood for it.

We hang out in Hyde Park and drink double cream cappuccinos whenever we the sun is out.

And when the weekend is lit: we hit the dance floor in Sandton.

Ooh, this is the sweet life her mother warned her about.

She has a lovely job and a spacious loft apartment in town.

She has a metallic red sports auto and a big heart of gold.