Disclaimer Alert: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Sometimes I tend to question my integrity, but not really in everything that I have to do. Tonight though is exceptional, and I am beginning to think that I deserve the worst after the choices I have been making of late. By of late I mean in the last.. wait a minute I am smart, so this should not be hard, how many days has it been since January 1st? I hate mathematics, and I hate everything to do with numbers, I hate my age because it continuously alarms me that I am growing old and I have not made sense of my life. Even before I finish imagining that my birthday is coming soon, I am reminded that this is the fifth cigarette I am smoking today and it is barely noon.
See, this is why I hate numbers, because even after the sex that I just had, (it was not making love because love has nothing to do with it) reality hits me that whatever I am doing is just not right. This has got nothing to do with her age, and just because she is older, it does not mean that age has anything to do with this. I know you deserve to have your questions answered as you read this, but I am not obligated to state any facts just because I am taking your time here, after all, I am the one who deserves a little grace, not you. But since it has been a good day, metaphorically, I will let you know that unlike most people, I tend to be bored very fast with anyone, or anything and that by now you should know that grumpiness is one of my principal characters, but not the main reason people find me attractive.
You see there are two different type of people who walk on this little big planet, at least when it comes to those who strive to make it. One is the-I’ll-do anything-to-make-it, and the other is I’ll-only-do-the-right-thing-to-make-it. By now, I assume you can categorize me and well, shit, I barely care.
“People think the hardest thing in life is being poor; I think one is much more inferior if you’re rich and not beautiful.” She states with a half-baked smile, after a moment of forced multiple selfies, I think I only look good in one.
“Now you’re breaking my spirits after having a splendid time with you.” My truth is relative, but I only consider it the truth since it is coming from someone who is relatively handsome. I don’t know how relatively accurate this statement is, but when you put me in the category of many men and am not talking along the kinds of Redsan or Nameless or even P. Diddy for crying out loud. I am talking about the kind of men that average Kenyan women date, then I would consider myself relatively handsome. But such are thoughts that barely crosses the mind of an average man depressed by his age. “You know there is something about you that I find uniquely beautiful.”
She blushes, as she hits my shoulder, you know the type that a chic gives you to show that though you are boring, she would not mind enjoying your company, or even waking up next to you. I can see the smile on her face, a cheerful smile, that I had earlier described as a blush. Truth be told, I never know how to determine when a Kenyan lady is blushing, for two significant and critical reasons, pay attention and you might agree with me. Kenyan ladies are black, at least that is what most should be and blushing involves seeing a lady’s cheek turn pale or pink, but if you are black, how will one see the pink or paleness on your face? The second reason goes to the light skin who apply too much pink powder on their cheeks, at what point does one get to know you are blushing? A piece of advice, hint your man by stating that you are blushing otherwise, any man, including me will think you are smiling or just stick to the emojis. I steal a glance at Suzie (this is not her real name, and I will use, this name henceforth for the sake of you tracing our selfie on Facebook) and there is still that smile on her face, and at this point I can’t tell whether she is blushing or not because she belongs to the second category of ladies.
The watchman waves at me, sarcastically, I assume, as he slides the gate open and I catch my sight in the side mirror. Gosh, I look pathetic, I console myself, but this does not work well since it is actually true, and I am beginning to imagine why I am not like my brother or even my sister who did and continue to do everything right to make it. Then I remember the lady in orange that I told you about, some months ago. What was her name? Yes, Anita. Well, we apparently were never fated.
I think there should be a manifesto for us guys. The not-so-interesting type of guys, we should not be the kind that has to do whatever it takes to avoid waking up alone, like finding love only in people who realize that they will never be loved, or the not-so-interesting-ladies who have money to make them look like they can still blush at old age. In fact, the next time we meet again, I am going to share with you, my or our manifesto. We deserve to be loved and, well find someone to love without trying so hard to write senseless and endless messages filled with desperation.
So Suzie drops me and gives me a peck, and all I can feel are dry lips masked in some expensive lipsticks. The heavy drops of rain begin to wash my sins away, and this seems to be my least of concerns, all I am thinking about is my due rent and the manifesto. Suddenly, I realize that when you are the only average in a crowd, you start to miss the other average that made you feel like the world revolves around you, yes, I think I am better off with Suzie than she is with me.
to be continued…
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