Keep Well ...

Few words combine with an effect as venomous and stinging as the 'Keep Well' text message (KWT). Known to leave recipients reeling in stunned disbelief, followed by hours, if not days of mourning, the KWT can castrate a man. 'Keep' and 'well' are bland enough words on their own. It is the combination that is deadly. 'Get Well', for example, is acceptable. Sure, we're happy with that, obviously the sender has nothing but sympathy and wishes for your speedy recovery from airconditioning-related flu. 'Stay well', as in 'Sala kahle' ? Great. An amiable cultural expression; a friendly parting salutation, we can handle.

It' s the thinly veiled 'stay-the-blazes-away-from-me-and-don't-make-contact-again' / 'what-the-HELL-did-I see-in-you-in-the-first-place, no-really, I'd-rather-bungee-jump-with-a-hangover' that is Keep Well, arguably the most vicious known conclusion to a flirtatious textual banter session.

In it's isolated form it seems harmless. Lovable even; well-meaning. Yet it is, in the context of hopeful 'fishing for a date' text-sending, as brilliant and artful as a Samurai war dance. And, like a Samurai, it is not without mercy. By dropping in a well executed Keep Well, you're giving the poor sod in whom you have absolutely zero interest a way out, a chance to leave with his dignity intact . Sadly, there are always those who fail to recognise the opportunity. For those simple creatures blessed with skin thicker than a stegosaurus, getting a KWT is like picking up a Get Out of Jail Free card, grinning moronically, and then tearing it up at the World Monopoly Playoffs.

The KWT is a part of life. We've all received one, we've all delivered at least one. It is representative of reality. More specifically, of those things we'd prefer not have to deal with, like queuing at Home Affairs. When we're on the receiving end, a KWT will always arrive at precisely the same time as the Fun Burglar (noun: thief of fun).

It is no wonder that we have yet to see Meg Ryan or Jennifer Aniston roles in which they actually have to receive one. It is a cultural taboo which has simply not been explored in any mainstream cinema. It would be too gritty. Perhaps it has been touched on in an obscure subtitled movie in which a gong strikes somberly in the background, but it sure as hell is just not palatable enough for wholesome blockbuster audiences. Why? Because it is an uncomfortable truth. We'd simply rather not accept bat, or have to watch anyone else getting it.

Let's be honest - we would have been denied one of the greatest cinematic scenes in history had Johnny casually slid Baby an sms of this nature via his Nokia when he left Kellerman's to the strains of 'She's Like the Wind'. 'The Time of My Life' would still be a seed in the brain of some creative genius in the US. I'd certainly be half the woman I am today.

Think about things that 'Keep Well' - jams, chutneys, pickled onions, biscuits with hydrogenated vegetable fats. In today's organically aware world, no-one wants to be associated with preservatives.

Look after yourself.