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Lenox Mhlanga on Saturday

IT is in the dead of winter, yet he is sticking to his old ways. Don’t ever kid yourself that he will change.

The battle lines have only been re-drawn. You still wonder where he would have been.

He rocks up the front door at seven in the morning and you assume that he has been lying in the arms of Mary.

How wrong you are! Don’t die worrying yourself whether he has been arrested, kidnapped or worse, run over by a bicycle.

Well, if you didn’t know, he would be having a time of his life!

Every wife would surely want to know what really goes through his mind at that time.

Allow us to open an “X” file most men would have liked to be kept a state secret…until now. Revealed by Melvin Durai, an Indian, Zambian-born humourist based in the US.

Seek comfort in the fact that you are not the only “beer widow” in the neighbourhood no matter what nosy Mrs Siyabatshela tells you about her angel of a husband.

What really would have happened to your man when he crawls up the front porch at the crack of dawn? What really goes on in his brain, women often wonder.

According to Melvin, there are five levels of drinking and for argument’s sake we will analyse all five even though some of us men would not care to admit it.

Level 1

It’s 11 o’clock on a weeknight, you have had a “few” beers though even that figure is debatable. A little angel appears on your right shoulder; “Time to pack it in mzala, the wife and kids are getting worried.”

You get up to leave because you have work the next day and one of your friends buys yet another round. Here at level one you think to yourself, “Oh come on, this is silly, why as long as I get seven hours of sleep (snaps fingers), I’m cool.”

Level 2

It’s midnight. You have had a “few” more beers. You have just spent 20 minutes arguing against artificial turf. You get up to leave again, but at level two, a little devil appears on your left shoulder. And now you are thinking, “Hey! I’m out with the boys! What am I working for anyway? These are the good times! Besides, as long as I get five hours sleep (snaps fingers) I’m cool.”

Level 3

One o’clock in the morning, you have abandoned beer for some poison with a name you can’t even pronounce. It’s served in tiny glasses and you have to ignite it with a match before slugging it to the back of the mouth.

You have just spent 20 minutes arguing for artificial turf. And now you are thinking, “Our waitress is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”

At level three, you love the world.

On the way to the toilet, you buy a drink for the stranger at the end of the bar because you like his face. You also like the reflection of your face on the water inside the toilet bowl.

Aren’t you the most handsome guy in the universe? But at level three, that devil is a little bit bigger… and he is buying. And you’re thinking, “Oh, come on, come on now. As long as I get three hours sleep… and a complete change of blood (snap fingers,) I’m cool.”

Level 4

Two in the morning and the devil is bar tending. For the last call, you ordered a bottle of Jamaican Rum.

You are artificial turf! This time on your way to the toilet, you punch the guy at the end of the bar, just because you don’t like his face.

Your friends decide to leave, right after you are thrown out, and one of them knows an after-hours bar.

And here, at level four, you actually think to yourself, “Well… as long as I’m only going to get a couple of hours sleep anyway, I may as well . . . stay up the rest of the night!!! Yeah! (Or what’s left of it.)

That would be good for me! I don’t mind going to the staff meeting looking like Alcoholics Synonymous.

Yeah, I’II turn that around, and make it work for me. And besides, as long as I get 31 hours sleep tomorrow… I’m cool.”

Level 5

Five in the morning, after unsuccessfully trying to negotiate with the bouncer at the door for free entry, you and your friends wind up at sleazy night spot across town with guys who have got out of prison as recently as . . . that very morning!

It’s the kind of place where even the devil is going, “Uh, I have to turn in. I have to be in Hell at nine. I can’t miss that breakfast meeting with Idi Amin.”

At this point, you are drinking some kind of clear liquid, powerful enough to power a Boeing 777 to Mtshayazafe and back.

A woman with fresh stitches comes over, and you think to yourself, “Someday I’m going to marry this girl!”

One of your friends stands up and screams, “we’re driving to the moon!!!” and passes out. You crawl outside for air, and then you hit the worst part of level five – the sun. You weren’t expecting that were you?

You never do. You walk out of the club into broad daylight, and you see people on their way to work.

And they look at you shaking their heads asking, “Who the hell beat up this guy?”

Let’s be honest, if you are 19 and you stay up all night, it’s a victory like you have beaten the night. But if you are over 40, then that sun is like God’s flashlight.

At this point you say that ever-common prayer. It goes something like this: “I swear I will never do this again as long as I live!” And some of us have that add-on, “and this time I mean it!” I call them “famous last words.”

So ladies, the next time he rocks up at dawn, before giving him the mandatory work-over with the frying pan or rolling pin, at least give his story some credit if he told you that he had ONE HELL OF A NIGHT!