Back in the days when my hormones
were raging, I despised small talk. My idea of fun was getting right into it.
It was masculine sort of, macho and “getting to know each other” was rather a
waste of time. But now as a certified occupant of the third floor, I can’t even
begin to imagine how I let my raging hormones take control of me. Life indeed
has humbled me and what I cherished some 10 or so years ago is what actually
makes me want to hug a transformer (That will never happen). That aside, here I
was on a blind date with some 20 something year old slay queen (I wonder in
what kingdom she is a queen of or what she actually slays for that matter).
Every indication was that she was a wannabe, the 18 till I die kinda girl, the
modern day version of Cleopatra.
So I asked her what she liked doing
in her spare time and she answered without flinching that eating was her hobby.
You should have seen my pupils narrow, my jaws drop and it took every ounce of energy
in my body to fake a smile and pretend as if the muzzled surprise was an approval
of her “well meaning” hobby. I had long given up on the dating thing. Nothing
excited me anymore. My idea of fun was walking into a club on sunny Saturday
afternoon, sitting in a strategic corner, sipping on my favourite local beer
and watch or rather form opinion of people. It’s a peculiar habit I know but
one which gives me great satisfaction. It makes me understand the behaviour of
humans before and after they get intoxicated. It also makes me understand just
how uniquely different we are as a human race.
Back to my slay queen.
She had the physique and the
presence. The fake eyebrows though were a turn off. Her cleavage laid bare for
all (I suspect one of her friends lied to her that it was a sure way of keeping
me hooked). From the way her clothes hugged her body and the uncomfortable way
with which she walked, it was clear the shoes were borrowed. I am not
particularly a funny person so you can imagine how incensed I got every time
she laughed at my supposed “jokes”. I mean, the son of the retired general is
not good at cracking jokes!
So how exactly is eating a hobby? I
asked, finally getting her to open up about her miserable life (Alright, I get
it. Don’t give me that look. I can be quite cold at times). I was already
getting bored. She was clueless about current affairs, her role model was Kim
Kardashian, her goal in life to become the next Vera Sidika. To her, Vera Sidika
is the epitome of beauty, the very definition of success and the representation
of woman power. Like seriously, what happened to the girl child?
What happened to the good old girls
who dreamt of pursuing education to whatever level, pursuing a dignified
career, being a role model to their younger siblings or actually being the
pillar of homes as our mothers were? What we have now are the wannabes who
crave for attention on Instagram with semi-nude pics, whose favourite meal is
pizza, zero cooking skills, fake eyebrows, empty brains and trying too hard to
fit in. They loathe anything books, deem a simple dinner date in a downtown
hotel a travesty, and are ready to throw their cheap bodies to you at the sight
of a crispy shiny note. Holy Moly!
Well, such is life. Who am I to even
purport to be the moral police? We all have our lives to live. Don’t we? Let me
stop ranting and get back to my sleazy 20 something blind date. “What are your
likes and dislikes?” The question brought me back from wherever my mind had
wandered. I actually begin to think that we finally can talk about something
interesting you know. My response, “I like pretty much everything” This vague
answer was actually meant to provoke the next question but to my utter dismay,
she simply smiles and shrugs it off. What a dumb ass!
“What about the dislikes?” At this
point, it was clear to me this conversation was actually heading nowhere. You
see, I love to have an intelligent conversation with a woman. I love a woman
who can sell to me something more than her luscious lips, her exposed cleavages
or fake mascara. That’s just me. The aesthetics don’t just cut it. That said, I
finally get to tell her that I dislike people who spell my middle name
incorrectly. “Spell or write?” she poses the question surprised. Well, the
spelling is actually reflected in the writing. My middle name is Samwel with a “W”
and not Samuel with a “U”. I know it’s funny but it kinda gets to me. Write my
name well because if you don’t I would actually be staring in the dark on my
bed wide awake at night thinking of a thousand reasons as to why a human being couldn’t
get a simple thing right. Like seriously, you only had one job for crying out
loud!
She goes ahead to tell me that I am weird
and that such things shouldn’t make me lose sleep at night. At this point I
feel like telling her the time I just spent with her will actually make me lose
my sleep at night. I would probably be lying on my bed wondering how at my age
I could seriously waste my cool two hours listening to this bimbo. But then
again, the end justifies the means! Doesn’t it?
“I also love polygamy or rather it’s
ingrained in me”, I continued. At this point she was genuinely surprised. All
this talk of a real man or gentleman simply doesn’t cut it for me. You see,
human beings are a hypocritical lot. Ever wondered why people deem their new
catch better than the last one? Isn’t that madness? So you’ve had like 10
boyfriends/girlfriends and somehow, in some twisted way, a new
boyfriend/girlfriend is always better than the last one. Oh he is sweet, he
opens doors for me, he doesn’t snow, he doesn’t cheat, he prays 3 times a day,
he only drinks on weekends, he is good in bed bla bla bla. So why then do you have
a long list of them? Do they kind of mutate every time? Jesus!
At this point she was visibly getting
bored or rather wondering what really prompted her to come to this blind date
thing. Here was a guy who was less interested in her goodies that she was
displaying and yapped on end about how a misspell of his middle name makes him
want to die. “So do you want to know if am circumcised?” I blurted out. It was
an out of the blue kinda question. Something she wasn’t expecting and I think
this was it. She made up her mind she wasn’t going to deal with this strange
son of a bitch and politely told me something that went like “My mom doesn’t like
it when I stay out late so I have to go”. “It was nice talking to you”.
Me: Did you know I have a wife?
Her: What?
Me: You heard me
Her: Then why did you come for this
date? I feel used
Me: But I didn’t as much as touch
you!
She waves her hand, clicks and walks
out in a huff!
I motion to the waiter and tell her
to get me Dirty Martini 2 doubles. That went well. Didn’t it?
