The Blind Date

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?