The Year of Dating Dangerously IV

Hopefully ever after

Bachelor #11 is a true gentleman, has a delightfully dry sense of humour and we have half a dozen thoroughly enjoyable dates.

But then, out of the blue, just before I can start to think about riding off into the sunset, a man in a black leather jacket comes charging down my street on a big black bike. It’s Bachelor #2, my Biker… I don’t believe in fairytales anymore, but the knight on the black horse has come to claim his damsel and sweeps me right off my feet and into his arms.

I must confess here that I had become plenty fond of this bright and beautiful human being in the year that I’d known him. A deep love had grown quietly but somewhat painfully, as it was apparently unrequited. And so I had tried to accept that friendship was all that I would have, and resolved to move on. But each time I met another bachelor, I would realise that friendship with The Biker was more precious to me than romance with any new man. I could never quite give him up.

So imagine my joy when, in the nick of time, The Biker finally comes to the proverbial party. We fall into a slightly wobbly embrace and share our first tentative kiss, giggling like children who have stolen some chocolates and got away with it. Within days we go off on a whirlwind honeymoon and then decide to get engaged, just a few days short of our first anniversary. Watch this space for the wedding date. Who says love has to happen all in the right order?

My kids are delighted. My son had often teased that we “should just get married already!” My eldest daughter asked, “Can we keep him?” and my youngest pouted every time I went on a date to meet someone new, saying I should just stay with the Biker. My parents immediately toast our happiness when they hear the good tiding. They too had figured that we’d be a good match. I hear the polite equivalent of “Well, DUH!!” from my friends when I change my relationship status on Facebook. It seems everyone else saw this, long before we did.

Yes, it took us some time. But in many ways this is a good thing. We know each other thoroughly by now: we’ve shared each other’s ups and downs, had ten drama-free weekends away, went on hundreds of informal “dates” and all this without the blinding insanity of being “in love”. And, seeing as we’re both greying and wrinkling a bit, one hopes that wisdom and sensibility will prevail… Which is why we’ve gone and bought ourselves the most outrageous costume rings we could find for our engagement. A skull for the Biker, a chunky Liz Taylor style piece for me. Rock and Roll! Aahhh what the hell, one might as well lighten up a bit at our age.

2014-04-23 17.05.08

And so ends our year of dating dangerously – which culminates in smugly deleting our online dating profiles (“Reason for deleting profile: I met my match here.” Yay.)

With knees shaking just a little, we get off the rollercoaster and embark on a new journey of loving steadily and sweetly, as we ride off into the familiar sunset over Strand Beach.


The Year of Dating Dangerously (III)


I get a long and incredibly eloquent letter from a man whom I’ll call the Genius. The man writes beautifully. He is an intellectual, a philosopher, a Great Mind. An inventor, a creative genius, and his letters are worth framing. I am breathless just reading them. Quite soon, he says he wants to meet for coffee. By a strange twist of fate, I have a baby again, but this time only for a fortnight. Back to the Botanical Gardens, where the waitresses must be wondering about this white woman with the brown babies and a different man every time. But hey, I like the big trees and silence and it’s known and familiar and therefore anxiety-reducing. When I meet the Genius, my immediate gut reaction is “No.” Simply that.

We have a pleasant enough time under the trees, talking about his work and kids and life, as one does. Even though it’s not really relevant to me, I am still curious to know exactly what he meant when he said he is “separated”. I see him take a bit of a breath, then he tells me he is still living with his wife and daughters. He sleeps on the couch. Their marriage has been “over for a long time”, and he is “definitely getting a divorce”. He’s just “waiting for the right time” to tell his wife. It has to be done right, so as to cause the least amount of hurt. I nod sympathetically. We go our separate ways, with vague words of “We must do this again”, but I know already. No.

After I get home, I start getting messages from him, asking what I thought of him. I don’t reply immediately. I’m stalling, not sure how to say this. I text back, “can’t talk, just driving kids around.” More messages, getting increasingly agitated about my lack of response. By early evening I finally sit down and type a polite reply. I tell him that it was nice meeting him and I have enjoyed our email exchanges immensely, but he is a married man, and I don’t feel like I can date him while he is married. His answer is abrupt: “Fair enough.” We never contact each other again.

By now I am jaded and fed up and cranky. Nine! Nine interesting, (mostly) decent people, but still no-one truly compatible. I vow it’s the convent for me. Except I’m not a Christian, so it might be a problem getting into a convent.


But then I get an email from someone who looks rather familiar. An old flame! From eight years ago. We dated very briefly and had a lot of fun back then. What a nice surprise! Of course we can go out to supper to catch up. Just one small detail. I still have this baby. No problem, the man says, he likes babies. So off we go again, baby strapped to chest and having a great time watching people’s reactions when they see the white woman with the Afro baby. And the man who looks like an Italian Stallion. The Stallion is terribly charming. When the baby needs to be fed, he cuts up my food for me so I can eat with my free hand. Later on he takes the baby and sings to him in a deep and beautiful voice. The waitresses think it is the most adorable thing ever, and I do too.

We go out again a few times, without the baby, because he has by now been placed with another mother with this incurable condition (she has it in a much worse degree than me: she already has two babies! I was just helping out in a crisis. I’m in remission, but not totally cured, you see). Anyway, the Stallion and I have a few great dates and every time I see him he takes my breath away with his good looks and guitar playing and serenading. And how he makes me laugh! But, as before, this is not where my future lies.

I go back to home base and take a long hard look at the past ten months. I count the men. Ten of them. TEN! I’m due for my prize, I’ve worked hard at this, I played the numbers game! I have run out of steam. But.

There is still one man out there, who has been emailing for a few weeks, but I’m getting despondent. Still, the man seems kind, decent, intelligent, and well, what have I got to lose…? And, for a change, here is a non-smoking, non-Christian, non-married man. That is already quite encouraging.


I feel sluggish and scattered but I invite him out for coffee (yes, bold and modern woman that I am). I suggest the Botanical Gardens, it’s just the easiest for me, I am too anxious to think of any new venue at this point. And I really do like it there. I arrive five minutes early. I am uncharacteristically nervous. My heart is in my throat and I swear I’m never doing this again. Ever. It’s too draining. I feel almost feverish. I turn my car’s fan up and hyperventilate a bit. Gradually I get a grip and calm down. It’s time.

I walk the short distance to the coffee shop, and spot him immediately. My heart skips a beat. A strange calm settles over me as we start talking as if we’ve known each other for ages. It’s that easy. He’s kind, funny, attractive, different… Coffee turns into lunch, and still we are nowhere near that awkward point when conversation just dries up. The waitress asks me where my baby is today. I have no option but to tell the truth about my illness. The man thinks it’s sweet.

Eventually we must leave, though. At my car, he asks if he could have a hug. I put my handbag into my car, my back turned. “Of course,” I say when I turn around. I even surprise him with a quick kiss. I drive home feeling very odd indeed. I want to see him again. I hope he wants to see me again…

We continue our conversation in cyberspace, and we agree that the date went well. I tell him that I would say yes if he should ask me out for another date. Sometimes I say the strangest things. And so he does, knowing the answer already. He suggests we go for breakfast in Franschhoek. I am nervous again and have a complete wardrobe breakdown, and there is not enough time to consult my fashion advisor. The weather is really in-between warm and cool. Should I wear my favourite dress, which is summery but has a very low neckline…? Too cold? Too revealing? Maybe my favourite white blouse? Too hot? This is so unlike me. I normally just wear whatever is clean and not too crumpled. What is wrong with me?!

Wardrobe worries are soon forgotten, though, and we have a date as smooth and harmonious as one could wish for. I am waiting for the alarm bells to go off any minute, as invariably happens within the first date or two (at which point I try my best to not ignore them). Silence. No red flashing lights. I consult my best indicator – my gut. It says not to worry. Hmmm. This is new, this is unexpected…

The third date is on the horizon. Watch this space and wish us luck.

Continues here

The Year of Dating Dangerously (II)


Next in line is the Irishman. Now this man and I have been corresponding happily for many months, but we’ve never met. We were just always out of sync. He was in a relationship for a while so we thought it best not to meet in person. However, he was willing to act as my dating / fashion advisor when I go out on dates. He is a laugh a minute, and our conversations via our cell phones are beyond hilarious. But eventually, he’s single again and we meet for supper. The man is seriously sexy, he oozes warmth and sensuality. He blows my mind with his wit and intelligence. We have a lovely evening. I am weak at the knees when he says goodbye with the sweetest little kiss one can imagine. I drive home rather shakily…. Despite meaning to meet again for “coffee and kisses”, we never have. We talk often, just to give and get updates on each other’s dating adventures. He’s become more than just a fashion advisor. He’s become my life coach!


Fast forward another month or so, and I have a date with the Jaguar. We connected through music and sent each other interesting and sometimes obscure songs for quite a few weeks, communicating almost entirely through the music. When we meet, it confirms my impression that this is a most unusual man. He is dark and slim and handsome, and full of surprises. I can’t say anything about his job, in order to protect his identity, but I am fascinated by what he does, and how this is so different from the artistic, musical side I’d come to know. He is smooth and has impeccable manners, and he moves like a dancer, he has the grace of a jaguar. I’m quite nervous, though. We have coffee and talk for a long time. We say goodbye with a quick peck on the cheek and a hug. I think I might see him again… We continue our song exchange and I collect the most awesome music you could imagine. Several weeks later, we meet for lunch. I am still nervous. We talk about life and work and kids. He is so different from anyone I know. We say goodbye rather awkwardly after lunch, both thinking a little kiss might be appropriate, but in the end awkwardness prevails and eventually the songs and the sms’s dry up.

So back to base. This dating game is exhausting. I’m not sure I can keep it up. I’m feeling rather wobbly. Perhaps I should take a break. Besides, I have my best friend to hang out with, so I’m not lonely.

After a few weeks, I have recovered my strength and start corresponding again. After all, it’s a numbers game. I estimate that for every one potentially compatible person, there are nine nice but incompatible people out there. I’m only up to five. I’m halfway then…


I get a message from someone who lives very far away from me. I’ll call him Mastermind, because somehow in a conversation I called him the mastermind of some plot, and the name stuck. My policy is normally to cut short communications from people who live too far away, nip it in the bud, so to speak, but somehow this man manages to slip past the perimeter guards and before I know it, I’m chatting to him on the phone like we’ve known each other for years. He is open and friendly and makes me laugh. I’m still not sure how he did it (perhaps this is the Mastermind at work), but the man persuades me to meet him halfway between his country and mine, in a city which happens to be my parents’ home. Not sure why, but I agree. He pays my plane ticket, and I know that this may well be interpreted as something else… But, no: we have an idyllic and innocent weekend, with no funny stuff. What a sweet man! Someone from similar background as mine, and I feel so comfortable sitting with him on a mountaintop in the wind, it’s all a bit unreal. At the end of the weekend, I fly home feeling decidedly bittersweet. It was good, and I’m glad I went. But the distance is just too great. I don’t believe I’ll see the Mastermind again. But we stay friends and chat often. Out of the blue, many months later, he is in my neck of the woods, and we go out and sit on a different mountain and feel unreal. “Holiday romance,” I keep reminding him, showing him a “V” sign with my fingers to indicate “vacation”. He smiles his cheeky smile and I feel grateful for this little oasis on my dating journey.

Onwards. Who’s next? Ah, the blind date.


This was a rather odd date. An acquaintance says she knows someone that I might get along with. I’ve never been match-made before, but what the hell. Nothing to lose. So we arrange to meet for coffee. As I am walking towards the designated coffee shop, I get a message from the man, saying he’s bumped into a buddy, and they are sitting at a different place, but not to worry, the friend says I’m welcome to join them. I stop in my tracks. Crap. This is a tough one. Do I play the primadonna and throw a hissy fit and tell him he’s downright rude and walk away? Or do I play along and show how easy-going and cool I am? I hesitate. A blind date is hard enough as it is, without friends observing. Deep breath. I walk on and meet him and his friend. The man (I won’t bother with a nickname this time) is attractive, bright, interesting. The two of them chat happily about people they know and stuff they did and I am not really included. The friend makes an effort now and then to draw me into the conversation, and it could be said that it wasn’t unpleasant altogether. But after an hour, I decide to cut my losses and go. The message it clear. I shake his hand, I shake the friend’s hand, thank them for the nice time and walk away with my head held high. I never hear from him again, nor does he hear from me. I preferred his friend anyway, so there.

This is getting ridiculous. I should just give up and become a nun, but I don’t, I slog on. I’m nothing if not determined. I remind myself it’s a numbers game and I must be getting close to the jackpot.


Next, I meet the Family Man. We meet for, guess what, lunch! We’re pretty comfortable with each other, given the fact that we’re complete strangers. He is rather adorable in an off-beat way. There is chemistry. This man attracts kids like the Pied Piper. He says he not only has his own three but also his ex’s two kids with him most weekends. I find it endearing. After a couple of hours, we say goodbye with a fond hug. I think I’ll probably see him again. We do go out again, and again, and again, for a couple of weeks. I enjoy his company, his outrageous stories, his sense of humour. But then I bail. A bit suddenly, I fear, but I realise better now than later. I just don’t see a future here. I’m sad, he’s sad, but we part amicably enough and have stayed in touch.

I lick my wounds and stay offline for a good few weeks. “I’m done with dating,” I tell the Biker. “No more, I can’t do this. Enough.” He gives me an ironic smile. “I’ve heard that one before, bun. Give it a few weeks and you’ll be at it again.” I shake my head, no, no, no…

But, he’s right, as usual, and a while later I’m drawn back in.

(Continued here…)

The Year of Dating Dangerously (I)

It all started rather innocently. And with more than a bit of déjà vu. Eight short years on, and I am single again. And I’m trying this internet dating thing. Again. After all, I had some fun with it last time and it did bring me the Moonman, for better or, as it turned out, for worse. Hence my return to singledom.

So, up goes my profile again, and this time I decide to be upfront about my flaws. These include, but are not limited to, the following: I can’t cook, I can’t garden, I don’t eat enough veggies and too much chocolate, I prefer lounging to going out for some exercise. I have a bunch of kids and pets and my life can be pretty chaotic (still, no change there!). I don’t eat anything that has mushrooms, avocado, fish or bananas in it. Or the meat of any animal that doesn’t have two or four legs. And even then, not always.

And away we go. I start getting fans and emails and pretty soon I have a small army of fans, who seem to think listing one’s flaws makes a welcome change to the staple diet of people listing their good points. Most of them are either too far away geographically (New Zealand?! Saudi Arabia?! Texas? Knysna!?) or they are way too young or too old for me. Or they have a moustache. Or they cannot write a coherent sentence. I am convinced these people are all perfectly decent, good, kind, interesting human beings, but a girl’s gotta have some pride.

I get a sweet letter from a 24 year  old. He says he knows he is a bit younger than my lower limit (which is 44!), but his friends all say he’s really mature for his age – would I like to meet him for coffee? Well… lemme think…. No. I have a child of 21. It can’t work. I write him a kind and matronly reply to thank him for his letter and to say that I do feel quite strongly that I am too old for him, but that I hope he meets a nice YOUNG girl soon.

I strike up the usual conversations with people from all walks of life. And inevitably the next invitation to meet for coffee arrives.


First up is a man who is looking for a tall, skinny, non-smoking girl, and still wants to have children (i.e. non-compatible – apart from the smoking bit). But he happened to be in my sister’s class in primary school. He doesn’t remember me, but he remembers her quite well. Which is not surprising really, she was and always will be quite stunning, while I was of a much paler, quieter and more nerdy variety. Nobody remembers me from primary school. Probably not even from high school, come to think of it. Even university. Damn. This is getting depressing…

So, we meet for coffee, Mr Incompatible and I. It turns out to be a four hour long coffee, and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. The man is hilarious! What fun, a total blast. I haven’t laughed this hard since the Moonman told me about painting his gate naked. After this great date, we part with a friendly hug. Great guy! But, sadly, still non-negotiably incompatible. We don’t follow up with a second date, but we’re still say hi now and then and I always have to ask him if he’s found Tall-Skinny yet.


Next up, about a month later, is someone with whom I’d been exchanging witty and lively emails for a few weeks. Let’s just call him the Biker. Although he looks nothing like the biker you may have in mind. When he asks where we should meet, I suggest the coffee shop at, wait for it….. Builders Warehouse. Yes folks, you heard right. Thing is, I’m very pragmatic, and I’d picked up a few clues about the man through his letters. He doesn’t like crowded malls, and neither do I, quite frankly. Even deserted malls are not good for me. And besides, I had to get a few things from a shop near the warehouse, so it’s convenient too. The man thinks it’s a hilarious choice of venues, but agrees to meet me there. The muzak is so excruciatingly horrendous that only elderly deaf people go there. Which is great, at least it’s not crowded.

This date is not quite as side-splitting as the previous one, but there is an easy feeling and we happily start rabbiting on about all sorts of things. I am not nervous, which is a good sign, and if he is, he hides it well. He’s endearingly unshaven and wearing his t-shirt inside out, and that makes me feel quite comfortable, somehow. So we sit and talk for ages, and finally I have to leave and we say goodbye with a friendly hug.

Now this time there is second date (during which I spill my whole cup of coffee onto my white blouse, and I have to go buy a t-shirt in order to carry on with our date). And a third, fourth, fifth… and we eventually stop counting. The Biker is emotionally mature, smart and funny, and probably the kindest man I know. We get along so well, I can hardly believe it. We go on picnics, we watch movies, we talk for hours, we even have a baby together. Oh wait. That doesn’t sound right. I must digress here for a minute.

I am a “kanga mum”, which means I suffer from a rare disorder where I am compelled to take newborn humans into my care for a few weeks or months at a time. There seems to be no permanent cure for this debilitating condition, and medication only partially treats the symptoms. So a month after meeting the Biker, I invite him out for a most unusual date, even more unusual than Builders Warehouse. I invite him to a kidnapping, to be my partner in crime. We drive to Tygerberg Hospital, and an hour later, we zoom out the gate with a tiny brown baby strapped into the car seat. We find it hilarious that the security guard at the exit asks to check the boot of the car, and here we have a stolen baby on the back seat. After the successful kidnapping, we take our little hostage out for coffee.

So for the next two months, Buddy tags along everywhere we go. He goes walking on the beach and in nature reserves, he even goes along on a weekend trip. The Biker is pretty cool about the whole thing, even though he is more into bikes than babies.

The Biker and I happily hang out like a pair of old slippers. We sit on my stoep drinking tea most Sundays. We have a great time, every time. We become very close friends. And yet somehow it never progresses beyond friendship. We are best friends, but we are not a couple. My (other) friends find it odd and confusing. But it is as it is.

I carry on dating dangerously, and after each new date, I report back to my best friend for the post-mortem.


Next up is the Farmer. From his emails I can tell he is well spoken and well educated, and has a good sense of humour. I gently break the news to him that I have a baby, but only for another few weeks. We can either have a date with an undersized chaperone in tow, or we can wait a while. He says the chaperone is fine, let’s meet now. Cool. So I rock up at the coffee shop at the Botanical Gardens, which has become my favourite, with baby Buddy strapped to my chest (see how  I don’t allow my condition to prevent me from living a full life?) The Farmer arrives, and my word, he is huge! He’s almost two meters tall, and I feel like a demented dwarf next to him. And that becomes my nickname: Demented Dwarf. I like it. We settle down to our tea (him), cappuccino (me) and milk (Buddy). We chat and laugh relatively comfortably, even though I suspect he is quite nervous. He’s very attractive. The air is crackling with chemistry. Eventually we say goodbye, I strap my chaperone into his car seat and make my way home. I think I might see him again.

And I do, a week or so later. This time I get a friend to babysit and we dine at a restaurant just around the corner. The man tells me about his life on the farm, his kids, his dogs, his cats, his parents. Fascinating. And oh boy, it takes my breath away when he looks into my eyes. After supper, we pick up the baby, and say goodbye with a warm hug and a warm kiss or two. Or three. I wasn’t counting. I think I might see him again. And I do, another few weeks later, but by then it has become clear that the logistics of distance and well, life, generally, are not going to play along. We’re still friends, though.

Two months after the legal kidnapping, Buddy goes to his adoptive parents and I get to suffer from insomnia again, as I always do when deprived of a baby.

Dating can happen in earnest again, now that I am babyless. I still hang out with my best biker buddy, and we have endlessly interesting discussions about life, the universe and internet dating. During this period I get “stood up” four times, which is very demoralising. I get invited out for coffee, and when I say “OK”, I never hear from the guy again, or the date gets cancelled a day before. It’s unnerving. But I remind myself that these men have just disqualified themselves, and that I wouldn’t want to go out with someone who is that rude anyway. So there. (But still, it’s awful and rude. Why not just say, “I’m sorry, I’ve just met someone else I really like and I’m gonna go with that and see where it leads.” I’d be cool with that! Really!). Oh well. Forwards, march…

(Continued here…)

Ackermann Junction ~ Your home away from home.

(Living smack in the middle of five schools, our home has become a popular stop-over for kids. Here’s the brochure…)

Looking for a comfortable place to spend a short stopover between flights? Or even an overnight stay? Look no further than Ackermann Junction.

Located in the tranquil, leafy suburb of Cringeville,  this exciting new venue offers travellers the following services:

 A trendy place to relax, unwind and meet up with friends and colleagues.

  • Conveniently central – walking distance from our town centre.
  • Fully equipped kitchen with all mod-cons: help yourself at our cafeteria’s delicious buffet or ask our friendly staff to prepare you a meal from our menu. Portions to suit everyone’s appetite: from small side dishes for the peckish child to man-sized meals for the weary and hungry businessman.

Our kitchen: with all mod cons you need

  • Our cafeteria offers a variety of healthy (and not so healthy) snacks, light meals, hot and cold beverages (tea, coffee, Milo, soup du jour, juice and chocolate milk for the youngsters).
  • Freshen up in our restrooms, or even have a shower if you wish. We have four private resting cubicles with beds (blankets and pillows provided), as well as safe storage for your baggage and clothing. For our female guests, our cubicles have make-up mirrors, hair styling appliances and beauty products to suit your needs.
  • Baggage drop – feel free to leave your baggage unattended, knowing that your posessions are safely cared for. We will also receive them on your behalf if your baggage should arrive while you are out.
  • Pet-friendly: our nutritious dog snackbar is open 24 hours a day, and there is plenty of space for your best friend to run around and relax. Dog beds are provided for all sizes and breeds.
  • Our reading room offers the weary traveller a peaceful place to unwind, with magazines and other reading material provided. It also features Wi-fi at no extra charge, so feel free to check your emails, tweet your friends, update your Facebook status or catch up on current affairs. Feel at home, recharge your cellphone and your soul while you wait for the next leg of your journey.
  • Ackermann Junction boasts secure parking as well as a convenient pick-up / drop-off zone.
  • We are very proud of our five star childcare facilities: qualified and experienced child minders are on call 24 hours a day, and our younger customers can enjoy our secure playground with its lush lawn, trampoline, easy-to-climb trees, bicycles, jay-boards, rollerblades, and petting zoo (where the little ones can feed the adorable guinea pigs!). Our inside play area provides a wide variety of educational toys and games, movies, television, internet games, music, a selection of musical instruments and art supplies.
  • For the fitness enthusiast, we provide exercise equipment on the sundeck.
  • NEW! For our busy and stressed professionals, we now offer Ackerpet Therapy®, with a small but dedicated team of trained TheraDogs® and TheraCats®.

One of our popular Therapets (R)

For our frequent flyers, Ackermann Junction offers Platinum Membership. These members can enjoy the following exclusive services:

  • Spacious VIP lounge where our guests can relax on our inviting futon. Put your feet up and rest as long as you like (pillows and blankets provided).
  • Quiet overnight units ensure a good night’s rest (bedlinen, towel, shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush and bathrobe provided).
  • Relaxing neck and back massage treatment by our in-house massage therapist.
  • Light, nutritious breakfast served in our plush dining room.
  • Courtesy car provided (driver optional).
  • We are a CCE accredited currency exchange, if you should find yourself in need of cash.

Please contact our central reservations office for more information.

0800-akc-junc          

Ackermann Junction. Your home away from home.

Lies we tell our parents

  1. Yes, I ate all my broccoli.
  2. I told you before, I don’t have any homework!
  3. It wasn’t me.
  4. I’m fine!
  5. I hate you! (slam door)
  6. I promise I’ll feed it andclean the cage every day!

    “I promise I’ll feed it and clean the cage!”

  7. I’ll be back by 11 o’clock.
  8. It’s NOT LIKE that!
  9. I don’t know what you mean.
  10. You don’t know what I mean.
  11. It was different in your day.
  12. No, (eye roll) he did NOT stay all night! He left just after you guys went to bed!
  13. I’m not cold.

I was a good kid, that is why this list is so short. I’m not such a great mum, evidently, since my list of lies we tell our kids is much longer… Oh well. Time for another chocolate.

The artist in the house

Artist: Aniek Nieuwenhuis (model Biance)



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