Mma Ramotswe’s Wisdom

Earlier this year I read The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency and loved it. It is absolutely a gem of a book and I highly recommend it. It is just very, very, charming, and it is a nice short read that will have you laughing out loud on certain parts.

My copy is currently in the hands of my mother, and has been for a few months, so I might have inadvertently given it to her. No matter! I have here two of my favorite scene (although there are more) so I can laugh even if the book isn’t in my hands.

Now constipation was quite a different matter. It would be dreadful for the whole world to know about troubles of that failure. She felt terribly sorry for people who suffered from constipation, and she knew that there were many who did. There were probably enough of them to form a political party–with a chance of government perhaps–but what would such a party do if it was in power? Nothing, she imagined. It would try to pass legislation, but would fail.

That last line is so simple but come on! It was great timing.

This next part is a little long, but it all works together to form a great passage.

Sex played no part in her life now and she found that a great relief. She did not have to worry how she looked; what people thought of her. How terrible to be a man, and to have sex on one’s mind all the time, as men are supposed to do. She had read in one of her magazines that the average man thought about sex over sixty times a day! She could not believe that figure, but studies had apparently revealed it. The average man, going about his daily business, had all those thoughts in his mind; thoughts of pushing and shoving, as men do, while he was actually doing something else! Did doctors think about it as they took your pulse? Did lawyers think about it as they sat at their desks and plotted? Did pilots think about it as they flew their aeroplanes? It simply beggared belief.

And Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, with his innocent expression and his plain face, was he thinking about it while he looked into distributor caps or heaved batteries out of engines? She looked at him; how could one tell? Did a man thinking about sex start to leer, or open his mouth and show his pink tongue, or… No. That was impossible.

“What are you thinking about, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni?” The question slipped out, and she immediately regretted it. It was as if she had challenged him to confess that he was thinking about sex.

He stood up and closed the door, which had been slightly ajar. There was nobody to overhear them. The two mechanics were at the other end of the garage, drinking their afternoon tea, thinking about sex, thought Mma Ramotswe.