After the heartbreak of losing my house-girl sweetheart to a spanner-wielding giant of a mechanic, I am moving on. Yep, that quick. It is the fortunate thing about being a man. We are getting rejections all the time and the least you can do is get used to them. Especially a man of my looks, I got loads of experience in the rejection area, trust me. In fact, my chances of scoring a hit are give or take one to 15. You see this receding bump above my right eye? This was a result of my dome colliding with a loaded blue handbag two weeks ago.
It was as I would call it my 14th attempt before I met Flora. So I spied this girl sitting all alone on the garden of Jevanjee Gardens in the city and she was looking all lonely and sad. I observed her for a whole 20 minutes as she kept on looking at her phone after every three seconds. I deduced that she was waiting for someone who was lousy at keeping time. I could tell that she was getting more jittery and impatient as time wore on and when she started sighing loudly, I decided to make my move.
So I sauntered over to her bench and installed myself right next to her, stretched my hand along the armrest and gave her a long hard stare. I call it ‘my intimidating stare’ and apparently, it is supposed to mellow the girl’s heart by me asserting control and authority. Do not ask me where I discovered it or why I do it because I do not know. Fact is, it never works but I still keep on doing it anyhow. After a minute of my classic move, I could tell she was getting really uneasy at which point I opened my talker and introduced myself and my intentions.
See, I am not a bloke to beat around the bush, go straight to the point, is my policy, and again, it hardly ever works but I still do it for one reason or another. “Sasa msupa,” I started in my macho drawl, “naona huyo boy hakuji. Lakini hayuko worth wewe, sasa waonaje mimi na wewe tuishie kwako, kwanza uniundie msosi, alafu nikushow baraka ninazobeba?”
When I analysed the scenario later, replayed it from the moment I sat next to her to the moment the blue handbag met with my brains, I discovered the series of unfortunate miscalculations that I did.
First, I remembered that I had not taken a shower for four straight days. See, the landlord was arrested about a week before for illegal water connection and our reserves had dwindled out over time. So when I sat next to the lonely chick and stretched my arm, the stench from under my armpits probably gave her a massive high. I also refused to read the twisting of her nose and pulling of the head furthest from my body as a danger sign.
Further, I misread the contortion of the facial features due to harassed smell senses as signs of my intimidation charm working. The next miscalculation I made was open my mouth. See, due to the factor above, brushing of teeth in my Banda estate had been rendered impractical. It never is a major consideration, to be honest, but with the water crisis, we have all but discarded the well worn out toothbrushes. So when I opened my mouth to deliver what I thought was my killer speech, the stench might have been worse than the one coming from the sewer.
The final miscalculation was to assume that the girl was lonely and had been stood up. With all these factors put together, I should have been alert enough to duck when I saw the flash of blue rushing towards my face, but I didn’t. The connection was hard enough to make me see butterflies for a minute and by the time they had flown away, the damsel had vanished. But she was my 14th attempt at getting me a girlfriend, I would presume since shortly after, I met Flora and got her. In simple terms for you my friend, for every girlfriend that I get, I have made over 14th attempts and gotten as much number of rejections.
As you can see therefore, it wasn’t really that hard moving on after the devastation of Flora. But now, I have decided that I am not going to live in poverty on account of my looks. I have hit an inspiration, and it came in the name of a girl named Vera. I watched her on my neighbour’s TV the other day, through the holes I have drilled in the tin partitioning of ‘the cave’ and gosh, I could not believe my eyes. The girl is loaded, I mean, like thoroughly asserted. I could swear it was like a tonne, the one she sits on.
Personally, I don’t like them that huge. I prefer a girl I can carry in case of an emergency. But I must admit I was drooling all over myself as she strutted her stuff to the more salivating TV guy. However, I have a problem with her skin colour. Spent Sh50 million to transform her colour, is what she said. Sh50 million? Thunders hit me! And she used it to change her colour to that of ripe paw paw? I love ripe paw paw, for your information. I love eating it, I love the way it looks. But I love that colour only when it is on ripe paw paw.
When you put it on a black girl, she looks kind of sickly, unnatural. This girl Sidika looks weird and alien and to imagine that she acquired the looks at a cost of Sh50 million is still shorting my thinker. Fact is, she is not a girl I would take to my ma, sufferer as I am, not that she would consider it anyhow —Vera, that is. But I am thinking that if she can be so wealthy, looking the way she does, then I am confident that if I introduced a new concept, male socialitism, I will be wealthy and famous in no time. That is why I am conducting a research on what you females like in men. Big muscles and other paraphernalia are obvious. What I need is that thing that will make me stand out so that I will be hogging the newspapers in no time
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