Men are Dogs

Every single female above the age of ten has at least said that to someone at least a million times in her life. Some women even think that this statement is an insult to the dogs. Most of us have even literally compared dogs to their men, so let me also have a go at it with all the males I know, one Nigel Kilee Lokko included.

 

Rottweiller, Dobberman: These are the mandingoes of the Bow Wows. Huge and dominant, Rotts have a confidence and presence that lets their owners know that they are invincible. They are the Tall, Dark, and Handsome of the canines and every bitch female dog, and female female, wants to hang around them because of all the things they portray: protection, influence, arrogance (come on girls, you know you love that), security…you name it, they got it. Typically the alpha males of the dogs, they do tend to be possessive, hence why they are great guard dogs and can do the work of 4 watchmen. However, they get serious separation anxiety…it is at this point that a certain love song by Goodfellaz comes to mind. It went something like “…I will cry if you walk away, wonder why if you wallk away….

 

Monsiuer Rott will put effort into wooing you: Dinners, movies, spend quality time, send you silly romantic texts, watch the sunset with you, carve both your names  on the bark of a tree, heck he will even have a secret smile that he uses only for you. He is a man who knows how to make a woman feel good. Admittedly, I am a Rottweiller kind of girl…. But unlike diamonds, they won’t last forever. Rottweiller will go cuckoo after 8 years and you are going to have to put him down lest he kills you. Yes love, your Mr. Romantic is not gonna be for long, so I suggest you make it good while it lasts…real good. As Martin Lawrence (I think) would say, “Ride ‘till the mother-effing wheels fall out.”

Great Pyreneer, Kuvasz: These are basically mountain dogs. They have thick white fur that keeps them warm and blends with the snow and the flock, which is a much needed advantage as Their main aim is to protect their flock from predators. Confident, fearless, tolerant, and protective, these dogs literally put their life before the flock, and are very sweet tempered about it.

If you are a female reading this, the only person that comes to mind is Daddy, right? Dads love all their kids, but will do anything-and I mean anything- for their daughters. They spoil them rotten and will go hungry just so sweet Stephanie can have that barbie doll she has been asking for for so long. Dads know, that their daughters know, that they (the daughters) are their weak spots. They know when they are being used…yet they are OK with it, because that earns them the adoration from their girls.

However, just like the flocking dogs, Dads can be extremely possessive and stubborn when it comes to decisions concerning their daughters. Nas couldn’t have said it better in his song Daughters.

German shepherd/Alsatian, Collies: Out of all the canines,  these dogs retain the most ‘wolf’ behaviour than any other type. They stalk and chase their herd on a regular, as if anxious that something is going to happen to it (the herd). Of course the herd does appreciate the sense of protection and the sensitive nature of these dogs, but they can be a bit much, know what I mean?

It’s like those guys who are dating banging hot babes: they always feel the need to check on these mamis, not because they care (of course they care), but because they want to be sure that no other dude is nyemelearing. If she says she is gonna hang with the girls tonight, Mr. Alsatian shall be beside himself with worry. In fact  before the end of the night, he will probably show up where these girls are hanging out, just to be sure that she is ‘safe’. This of course leads to fear based aggression, something that these dogs also struggle with. Toot toot..what a drag to date such a guy.

Retrievers: The guy who came up with the word ‘party animals’ probably bred retrievers.  This breed, with the most common being the golden retriever, are typically happy-go-lucky kind of folks. Good natured, outgoing, energetic,happy, mouthy, and very vocal, they are the life of the party. If you have them as pets, you can be sure you got a great wingman to make you look good. Easily trained, they are submissive enough to go out and hunt and bring their spoils to their master, hence why they are great at Frisbee.

All the cougars reading this are now counting how many retrievers they have dated. Young, energetic  campus boys who are eager to please both in their bedside manner, and their bedside manner…if you know what I mean. As long as the cougars keep throwing the Frisbee, these young’uns will always catch it and bring it back….until they wear you out. Their endless energy will eventually get on your nerves, and if they are bringing the Frisbee back to you on a regular, best believe they will get possessive. Paradoxically, retrievers are known for their wanderlust too…. And don’t we all know that all those ‘kept men’ have their other tu-dames….  chuckle chuckle.

Companion Dogs- these are mixed breeds that end up being an actual breed like the dalmatians, poodle, keeshond, and the boston terrier among others. Due to the mixing, these dogs depict characters of very many other breeds, all wrapped up into one. They basically need a lot of attention because they are mainly kept as pets.

You know those moody guys who always seem like they are on PMS (there has gotta be a male version, I just don’t know its name yet) everyday of their life? Yes, those guys are the ones we are talking about. One minute they wanna argue about that guy you keep texting, the next minute they are soooo sorry and make it up to you with a nice pair of shoes. OK, I only hear about these men, I have never encountered them (thank heavens), so I don’t have that much to say about them.

Northern Breeds: Best example is the Huskies.  Very, very beautiful dog with nice thick fur that sheds dirt so its always clean. Very independent, and if not fenced, tend to roam. And just like most hotties, their wanderlust is on a high and they are very difficult to obedience train. I seriously don’t know why one Biko Adema comes to mind in this one….the looks I guess. Again, I wouldn’t know- I’m a Rottweiller kind of girl, remember?

Toys- Mentioning them last will make any Chihuahua or pug come barking at me in its shrill voice right about now. Yes, they are actually called toys. And just like any short man, they suffer from chronic SMS (Short Man Syndrome), and hate to be put down to the ground. So much that they attack anybody who tries to ‘pat them down’, whether child or grown up.

I don’t know about you, but I’m a dog person, and straight as an arrow so I say to the men: Bring it on…doggy style.

Schmink like a lady, Schmact like a man

After writers and novelist realized that human beings are generally lazy and would rather watch the movie than read the book, we then got a new breed of money makers. I’m not talking about the brilliant Chuck Lorre’s, the Shonda Rhimes’ and the Gideon Raff’s. I’m talking the Steve Harvey’s and Co. who decide to write their self help books in ‘motion picture- mode’. Actually, Mr. Harvey had the audacity to do both paper back and film- clearly he was making a point. These writers look for a great cast director, and next thing you know Gerard Butler is co starring with Katherine Heighl and suddenly we all can’t wait to watch the movie. And because we females are suckers for romantic comedies, they always put that ‘happily ever after’ twist combined with the ‘flawed character’ thingi, and we just can’t grab enough tissues to stop the water works! If anything, these creators could actually be smarter than the makers of hilarious sitcoms like ‘Guys With Kids‘ and ‘The New Normal’.

But really, they tell us what we already know, and some even have the audacity to lie to us. Some time back, I actually sat all through ‘Think like a lady, act like a man’ and I have too say that cast combination was brilliant. I learnt a few things too.

1. Sometimes, a movie with an all black cast, can be a success.

I’m not racist, but ask anybody who loves romantic comedies….white folks ‘bring it’ more than black actors. Their chemistry flows better- It could be because they don’t mind showing a little flesh, while the hot mamis of ‘Single Ladies’ are busy doing a sex scene with their bra’s on!!!! However, ‘This Christmas’ was also an all black cast that did an absolutely brilliant job. Maybe because of the ‘soul-ness‘ of the plot, or because it featured Idris Elba. Personally, the latter works for me.

2. With holding sex for 90 days is a bunch of hogwash.

Lack of a little sum’ sum’ as you literally mark your calendar down to the last day when your guilt conscience can officially allow you to part your legs is simply punishing yourself. It does not sharpen your thinking, it does not make you meet ‘better’ guys or girls, it does not help you know exactly what you want in a man or in a woman. It just makes you cranky, and keep wondering why you take people’s advice while really it’s just an opinion. It’s your decision to make as to who, when, where you’re gonna open the cookie jar lid and share your cookie. If the guy/chic is a douche, you don’t need 90 days for that to prove itself. you should be a better judge of character than that- a douche bag is a douche bag, sans sex or not.

And anyway, the couple who did the 90 day thin in the movie had the least chemistry, the girl had too much make up, and the dude was the least hottest in the cast. #justsaying.

3. Chris Brown has too much ink.

4. People marry for one reason: Love.

Say what you may, but in the actual sense how many (Kenyan) men actually leave their ways for their ‘gacungwa‘? Yes, I just had to use that old school word- ‘the phrase ‘mpango wa kando has officially been over used. Married men (and women) misbehave all over the place, they lie, and they cheat. But they don’t leave their spouse. I could be wrong- maybe its money, or security, or a warm bed at night. Whatever the case…it takes a mountain for man and wife to leave each other.

5. It is not that easy to get loans.

In the movie, the drop dead gorgeous chef was dumped by his older, high-roller high-maintainance girlfriend because her socially correct ex came back into town and she wanted to rekindle the flame. So Mr. Hot Chef decides to get his act together, gets a loan, buys a truckkie and opens a tuck shop of some sort.

So, in which world does a broke ass with big dreams and no security except a cater-waiter job, walk into a bank and get a loan big enough to buy a truckkie and open a business???  Which economy are circumstances that good. If there is one, please let me know. I may not be as hot as Michael Ealy (I think he would still be some serious eye candy is he was female) or have such arresting eyes, but I am a great chef who is struggling to start her own business.

6. John Legend is officially the only man still singing baby making music.

Please J.L, you are the last of a dying breed. Hang in there.

 

Birthday Blog Post

All I want for my birthday is a big booty call…..All I want for my birthday is a big booty call: that’s how one Mr. 2 Chainz puts it. More than wondering why someone would only want a booty call for his birthday, I also often try to imagine if there was once a 1 Chain, and seeing as I have not watched this song on video, I wonder if 2 Chainz actually wears two chains as he sings his songs. Ridiculous as this song may sound, and trust me the rest of the lyrics ARE ridiculous, it’s the kind of tune that you can’t get out of your mind. Never mind that if someone overheard me-a heterosexual woman- singing it, they would wonder if I was undergoing some sort of quarter-life crisis, but I guess that’s the same reaction men get when they are caught singing along to Beyonce’s ‘A diva is the female version of a hustler…I’m-a a-diva..’. I guess some tunes just grow on you, kinds of like Collo’s ‘ You Guy…that dendai’. Yes, now I got you singing that one too yes?

Birthdays: The perfect excuse to do just about anything. Sing a song (refer to the the paragraph above), have sex with a stranger..complete with a soundtrack too, Jeremih’s- Birthday Sex (again, refer to the above paragraph), demand sex from your partner in your otherwise dysfunctional relationship, get stupid sh*t faced drunk, go shopping and spend a ridiculous amount of money on puny stuff…. The list is endless. And justifiably so. After all, it’s the day that you were born right, and God forbid you’re just gonna sit back and act like it’s a normal day.

It’s also a good time to give back to the community, smile at a stranger, give all your coins (and possibly a few notes) to that visually impaired lady along Kimathi street hapo between The Sony Shop and The Bata Shoe Shop. Probably register for the Stan Chart Marathon.. Come on, do it for the kids (I have always wanted to say that). Donate your numerous Gikomba clothes that you don’t wear any more to a children’s home. At this point, I have to say- The Good Samaritan Children’s Home in Mathare Valley needs you. Needs your prayers, needs your time, needs your hands, needs your expertise, needs your clothes and shoes ( and your money to buy shoes for the tiny kids that you cannot donate yours to), needs your connections for provision of drugs (many of the kids are HIV positive). The Rotaract Club of Milimani has so far done a commendable job, but it takes a village to raise a child. We are the village. Do something.

So anywhooooo (do people still say that?), turning a year older is not as fancy as it used to be… When you’re a mom, chances are that your 3 year old will REFUSE to sing you Happy Birthday. According to him, it is a tune reserved to the tiny humans, not big people like his Mommy. I punished him by adding spinach to his packed lunch- trust me, that is punishment for anybody who possesses my genes. It could have been worse though- My mother this morning gave me her diary for back in 1985, the year I was born. Turns out her E.D. D (Estimated Day of Delivery) was 25^th October. I am so glad I came ten days early- because otherwise it would mean that I would not be a Libra, and that folks would be flat broke on my birthday- Mid month is not so bad. People can usually spare a few shillings to indulge, unlike 25^th. 25^th, the cheddar has not yet checked in for the employed peeps, and everybody is just irritable and high struck, not wanting to accept that the almost empty wallet is the reason tihihihihi. That said, I shall wish all my friends born on the 25th of whichever month a very happy birthday and follow up with a phone call saying how I can’t hang out with them and buy them a few, or get them that perfume they wanted so badly.

A birthday, is also the perfect reason to have a comeback- say like a dormant blogger who decides to get back to writing on this day, not sure whether she still has the spunk, because birthday or not, you gotta be inspired to write a good piece you know?

 

“… I now give you the power to read…”

Back in the late 80’s, in the flamingo and monitor lizard laden hot and salty town of Magadi, there lived the naughtiest little boy I had ever met. This young man, let’s call him Mut aka @truthslinger, kept his mother physically fit by constantly making her chase him all over the place as she kept an eye on him. Every time he went silent, she would get worried… And with good reason, as most of the time he was busy inserting a fork into an electrical socket, trying to drown the cat, or better still (this was my favorite) getting his head stuck between the grills on the window.

But all this was before the family moved back home and Mut met his match. Mutua’s cousin Tuta aka @kyalomunyao -now fondly known to his niece and nephew as Uncle Tee- outnaughtied him by far. Tee’s mother quickly made friends with amused strangers as they reported to her every time she  bolted down the stairs to keep up with her son, that they had spotted the little monster scurrying off to hide in a crevice so that she would not spot him. ..No wonder his father liked to call him Mbia, Kamba word for ‘mouse’. When he was not torturing his mother, Tee would keep busy by inserting spoons and other paraphernalia inside the VCR, just to see if they would pop up on the TV screen. If that got too boring, he would go exploring the house and maybe just swallow a pin here, or a nail there, you know just for the fun of it. Or maybe, with combined forces of his older cousin Mut, they would ride their bikes down the stairs like the athletes they saw the previous night do as they watched the KBC program Stunt Masters.

By proper upbringing, but mostly the grace of God, these two kids turned out quite alright. In fact, one is a talented photographer cum architect doing very well for himself, and the other runs his own business that brings home quite a big chunk of the proverbial bacon.

These two gentlemen had quite a great childhood, which is little that I can say for kids today. It is cliché, but somebody still has to say it: societal pressures have made kids all over be robbed off the one thing they deserve- to be kids. In the name of learning how to socialize with their peers, toddlers at the tender age of 2 are being sent off to school to go and have ‘sleeping classes’ and learn how to pee in the right way. And as if that is not enough, they have to stay in nursery school for 3 years before they are pronounced ready to face the treacherous 8-4-4 system (GCE for the fancy pants). 3 years??? Seriously???? I am not half as smart as my son Nigel and I only did one year of nursery school!! Any kid, smart or otherwise, would get exhausted by three years of singing the same old nursery rhymes! And yes, the good kindergartens (Montessori schools etc) may have a few other things up their sleeves to keep the kids entertained but still…3 years??!!! And let us not even think about how much damage that does to Mommy and Daddy’s wallets.

True, they learn a lot during this stage: simple etiquette, a foreign language, a musical instrument perhaps, and a hobby they might discover (apart from putting strange objects in their mouths and finding amusement in physically injuring their companions). But why do it in school? Children can learn these things from home- at their own pleasure and pace- knowing how fickle children can be, what with their goldfish attention syndrome common at this age. Why put in more rules and regulations when they already have so much trouble remembering to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ at the right time,  finishing their food while seated at one spot, and trying to keep their clothes clean for just half an hour. And for Nigel those kids who have Mut and Tee genes, it’s pretty hard for them to remember that the water in the toilet bowl is not for playing with (or drinking), and that the toilet brush is not a big tooth brush!!!!

Where are we hurrying off to? These days, with the Master’s degree being the new Bachelor’s, imagine how long your kid is going to be studying once he starts, yet you want to torture him by starting that soon!

But then again, I’m just a mother of one (ridiculously smart) kid, and I have no honorary PhD in Early Childhood Development, so what do I know? Being a lover of reading, and a total loather of studying and tests, I feel I have to say this: school is not fun. The people there however, and the co-curricular activities done while in school are great, and that is the only reason why a lot of people manage to stand the grueling process. So yes, I shall repeat: Chill out. Don’t torture your kids.

Petty Little Things

Don’t sweat the small stuff….and it’s all small stuff: that’s the title of a book I once used to see in my bookshelf. Now, my idea of self help is completely different from the authors (and readers) of self help books, so I was skeptical about reading it in the first place. However, this title had a ring to it so I decided to give it a shot. Gotta say, I did not get past Page 50- It had a pretty cover but that was about it. It honestly just wore me out, so I abandoned the whole mission. Well, that was way back in the late 90’s when I was much, much younger. My opinion about self help books still remains but as there is an exception to every rule, I do find myself perusing through the pages of one of those every once in a long while.

A conversation I had with a friend of mine however got me wondering about the contents of this book that I never got round to reading.  We were seated in a dark, dinghy joint, sipping on fizzy energy drinks served in white wine glasses. Yes, where I come from, even dinghy is uptown enough to afford wine glasses (but do I say). At some point, the adrenaline must have kicked in and next thing you know, we were talking about deal breakers. As is most of the time, when a man and woman sit down to talk-even as friends- the conversation is centered on issues of men and women. As I mentioned to him the things I cannot stand in a man, I discovered that I am actually quite petty, and I really should look for that book and read it. But first, let me share with you my small stuff.

Spelling: I cannot stand a man (and a woman) who cannot spell. I get it- misspelling is a common mistake that happens to the best of us. But surely.. Definately. Tommorrow. Convinience. Reciept. Exeggerate. Eh Yawa!! This is where T9 comes in to help. It’s Definitely, Tomorrow, Convenience, Receipt, and Exaggerate. And while we are on that, SMS means Short Message Texting, so either you look for numerous short words, or spell one long word CORRECTLY. I mean, are you so lazy that you cannot type ‘I don’t know’ hence we are supposed to tolerate your ‘I dnt knw’? There are accepted acronyms, adopt those if it’s time and word count that you are saving up on. And yes, if you space after the period at the end of a sentence, the uppercase immediately comes up so that you can begin your next sentence correctly.

Texting: As you may have noticed from my complaint above, I am an ardent texter. Texting is cute, and fun, and flirty. Imagine having a man who calls you back after sending him a dry joke, or an emoticon, or a naughty text…totally kills the mojo eh? Texting has its own creativity, and there is that smile you don after reading the text. And then there is sexting..Enough said.

Dirty Toes: People’s fetishes vary as much as people’s personalities do, and for the people with a thing for toes, I feel you 101%. But even if you are not a ‘toes guy’, that is no excuse for yours to look like you use them for digging. Callous feet, long, uneven  toe nails with mounds and mounds of cuticle on top of the blackness at the  toe edges. YUCK!!!! It is not un-mandingo to get a pedicure. If you want to, go ahead and get one. But really, just invest in a good nail brush and a nail clipper and spare ten minutes every week to work on your feet. Is that too hard to ask?

Socks: Clearly, I have a thing for feet tehehe . Those men (and women) in the gym who do not wear socks when working out, then claim that their feet don’t sweat…that’s like a fat girl who wears a skirt two sizes smaller, looks at herself in the mirror and smiles in satisfaction. And for those of you who claim that loafers are worn sans socks, I suggest you head to the nearest Bata shop and look around. There are socks for every type of closed shoe- even Manolos.

Push-Overs: It could be the fact that I grew up wrestling  my brother for just about anything; or that I had tough love from a mother who would die for me if she had to, but did not ever hesitate to whack my bottom if I made a mistake; or that life for me at some point  took a 180⁰ and has never gone back to being the same; or I’m just a feisty tomboy; but the thing is, I am quite intimidating. Opinionated, obstinate, and just plain man’gaa. Regardless, I’m still all girl inside- I love romantic comedies, and I cried when I watched The Notebook (there, I said it!!!). A man who never faces up to me, allows me to push him around, and one who goes down without a fight is just a plain turn off. Don’t ask how high every single time I ask you to jump. Come on!

As I type this blog, I realize that these things may be petty and if I read that book and find a way to get over them (I highly doubt that), I will end up dating a guy that I may one day kill in his sleep. What’s the point of taking someone’s life over not replying a sext and calling instead? I’ll tell you what- the point is, sometimes we are who we are, and the rest of the world just has to deal with that. Oh, plus I cannot find the book anywhere in this house anyways.

The Goat Eaters of Katelembo & other stories

There is a leopard in my village!!!!! Not just a leopard, but a Mother Leopard with 3 cubs!!!!

Ok, I really tried composing an opening for today’s post: thought about a short story within the short story, tried to weave in something about my son Nigel, even considered…but clearly, there is no better way to say it: THERE IS A LEOPARD IN MY VILLAGE!!!

Let me try to put you in perspective: I live in Katelembo, a little off Mombasa Road as you approach Machakos- the town that got duped by one Nairobi, who took all the fame and glory of being Kenya’s capital. Seriously, Machakos is more centrally placed, has better people, is surrounded by hills in the same way the late Njenga Karume’s mansion has a moat with crocodiles in it! How cool is that!!!! Machakos would have made such a cool Kenyan Capital! Well, now with Konza Ranch coming, Nairobi is gonna wish it  had not played us! I digress. Katelembo is not far from the road, or any other kind of civilization. In fact, we have 3 boreholes, and some homes have electricity. But when majority of the dwellers are subsistence farmers, 1 out of every 3 kids drops out of school to get married, and we have a Headman, then yes- I  do live in a village.

Sometime back, I decided to have a drink with a few mates and on my way home, I realized that I did not have my house keys. My mother’s phone was off (Yes, I’m 26 and I still live at home. Problem?) but as it was still early, I decided to go and knock. Now, with a 56 year old mother who sleeps through a choir of barking dogs, and a 3 year old son who sleeps through an earthquake, and possibly a bomb explosion, I would say my chances of getting into the house that night were not pretty slim- they were anorexic!

After an hour of star gazing, talking to Tammy my dog, kicking the cat about a hundred times, and of course the relentless knocking on the door that I was doing, Mother dearest finally woke up and let me in. By virtue of me being her child, and her being her usual self, Ma went into a monologue about the dangers of ‘night running’, and especially forgetting your keys such that your mother has to let you in, yet she is not married to you, neither does she depend on you to pay the bills.

“………( I really didn’t get exactly what she said in this part)……. What if something had happenned to you out there? Or dont you know there is a leopard on the loose?” and she went to bed.

Ma had to leave early the next day, but I was up by 5 am, making breakfast and hoping to have some leopard fable stories quality meal time with my mother. Well as it turns out, this kikoyo, as it is called in the Kamba language had devoured a total of 8 livestock, both sheep and goats. And just that morning, Ma had found sheep skin and a broken jaw in her shamba. Word was: the leopard had attacked a nearby home, and decided to enjoy it’s kondoo funga inside our shamba, in a section that my mother only grows trees and shrub as it is rocky thus conducive for farming.

On his way to work at 0445hrs one morning, another neighbor claims to have caught a glimpse of a tail, too long to belong to a dog, cat, and assuming that livestock were ‘morning people, it also did not resemble a cow’s. As he neared the main road, a passing car is said to have illuminated at an angle hence how he caught sight of the tail.  Leopards being creatures of stealth, this my neighbor did not even know that the beast had been walking just a little ahead of him all this time. With bated breath, he watched as the huge spotted cat jumped over a fence, and noticed three tiny figures jump over the fence too and disappear into the night. Well, needless to say, he went back home in sprint mode, woke everybody up, and had the perfect excuse not to go to work that day. I have to say that if I was his boss, I would demand that he finds the lepoard, kills it and brings me the skin before I can beleive a word he says.

It’s been three weeks since this incident, and this Mama Watoto, let us call her Kat (original eh) is still going round homes looking to wine and dine with their livestock. Kat has since expanded her horizon, and now covers a wider area. I don’t blame her- If I was Kat, my little cubs would now be weighing three times what they did when they checked in. And seeing as the local area chief and headman are taking their time in alerting Kenya Wildlife Service, Kat will clearly be extending her stay.The villagers have had feeble attempts to trap her, but Kat and her ilk know more about blending in and all things camouflage.

News just in.

The neighbor (hey, its a village- everybody is a neighbor) who comes to collect my mother’s payment for kikundi, a community groups that seeks to empower itself by growing and selling vegetables (When in Rome…) just checked into the house with the latest on Kikoyo Adventures:

Kat was followed early this morning after she attacked another home, about 2 kilometers from my house. As she could not make a perfect getaway whilst carrying her dinner, she abandoned it and fled. The villagers followed her relentlessly and sadly, they caught and killed one of her cubs. She got away with the other two and they lost track of her after pursuing her for almost 20 kilometers.

And so now, we have a bereaved and hungry Kat. If NatGeo has taught me anything, it’s that now Kat is one ANGRY mother. If she has the capacity to chew every bone in a sheep’s body save for the jaw, best believe that if she is not caught tonight, then the war is officially on…like donkey kong.

Or maybe that movie The Man Eaters of Tsavo is still fresh on my mind, and that is clouding my judgement. Well, let’s wait and see.

 

Smiley Face Monday :-)

It’s Monday the 23rd of January..as if you don’t already know that. My point is, its Njaanuary, and the dryest (both pocketwise and weatherwise) months is officially kwa kona. It is at this time that people ignore phone calls, look down as they walk the streets lest someone they owe money spots them, this is when people wish they had gotten the hang of nduvya. Hehehehe I laugh at the last bit of that sentence, because I don’t take sugar.

But even in a day like this of strife, we always find something to smile about.  A handsome stranger flashing you a smile while in traffic, a text from an old friend you have not heard from in a while, Fareed Khimani of X FM calling you to give you a free Safaricom top up worth 1000 bob, spotting a beautiful woman who happens to be well endowed strutting her stuff right in front of you, or finding a 100 bob in the shorts you were going to dump to the laundry basket, or better still some idiot who has had your money for the longest time decides to pay up. Well, that last one…wishful thinking.

So when a certain Miss Fussy Pants called me and ordered for a sandwich, I figured that she would just keep me in my January mood. So she, lets call her Minnie, asks what sort of bread I have.

“Fresh white and brown bread” I reply.

“Are your cucumbers fresh? what about your lettuce? Is is romaine? Or Iceberg lettuce?”

More amused than irritated, I answered all her questions, and proceeded to give her a brown bread sandwich, even though she had earlier said that she prefers white to brown bread. At this point, I think it is with all fairness that men say that sometimes women do not know what they want: because I still fing=d it hard to comprehend why she took a brown bread sandwich yet she said she likes white bread.

Twenty minutes later, I get a text saying;

‘It was sweet, I should have ordered for two.’

Well, Miss Petty loved the sandwich! Even though she did not have the vocabulary to describe it (a sandwich is delicious, not sweet), she passed the message across. Nothing makes my heart smile than when people enjoy my food, and yearn for more.

I gotta say though- the lettuce was neither Romaine or Iceberg…and she didn’t notice. Not because she did not check, but because it turns out that Miss Much Ado had just seen the words ‘Iceberg lettuce’ on the Nakumatt vegetable rack, and decided to show off her culinary prowess…or lack thereof.

 

Have a week, wont you?