Dear Diary,

It’s been a hell of a day spending time in church, and the bachelor is worried.

I know what you’re thinking: Why would anyone be worried about spending time in church? Well, I think the simple answer is, it depends on what one is doing in church. I bet those fellas Jesus caught selling stuff in the synagogue didn’t have much to complain about when the Lord brandished the whip.

While I haven’t been holding commerce in God’s house, I’ve been doing worse. My sin is more carnal, my weakness, members of the fair sex. Not that the church leaders have been any help anyway. I’ve been in church because my colleague Jenny is pregnant and the responsible pastor is denying responsibility. As they hush out their affairs in his office, I take a break and walk into the church, where the choir is practising.

That’s when I notice this really beautiful young woman out of whose lips comes the voice of an angel. But that’s me thinking with my heart. My head is telling me, “Hey, Casanova, you’ve read the Bible. Where did you ever come across a female angel?”

But that’s the thing with us men. We think with our small heads and completely ignore logic. So, to me, the woman sounds like an angel, and that’s exactly what I tell her the moment I manage to isolate her from the rest of the members and introduce myself.

“Thank you,” Suzanne says all shy like. “Have you ever tried singing? You don’t sound that bad yourself.”

I give her my most innocent smile. “Oh, no. if I attempted to sing, it would be pure torture. I’d probably be employed at Kamiti Maximum to sing to inmates as part of their punishment.”

She laughs so hard at my joke that other heads turn towards us.

“Sorry,” she says. “But that was too funny. Mind if I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Your hands. They’re so soft. What do you do?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“A doctor.” If she wasn’t impressed, now she is and I can see it in her eyes. She slides closer along the pew. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“A general physician,” I say, then I turn on the charm. “I cure all the body but I also cure lonely hearts.”

She shies off. “Oh, I see it’s more than your hands that are smooth. By the way, how come I’ve never seen you in church before?”

“I usually sit in the back,” I lie. “I just don’t know how I missed such a pretty voice.”

“You’re too kind. You sound nothing like most of the guys I meet. Even those I usually see in church.”

To the bachelor, that’s a perfect opening. I take the chance to go for the jugular. “May I ask you for one small favour?”

“You may, just as long as it carries favour with The Lord.”

I clasp my hands before me as if in prayer. “I wouldn’t think of asking you to do anything that will get you in trouble with the man upstairs. All I’m asking is if you could have dinner with me. The Lord allows you to eat, doesn’t He?”

Another shy smile. “Of course. But not today. Choir practice.”

“Of course, not. Monday evening maybe?”

“That’d be perfect.”

Just then, Jenny emerges from the pastor’s office. “Let’s go, Tom,” she puffs. “It was no use coming here.”

Suzanne shoots to her feet. “You’re ­the Tom? The one who impregnated my friend and is now blaming our beloved pastor? Forget about dinner. In fact, forget about me ever talking to you again.”