This post addresses the dangers of forced matchmaking and the importance of ocular sorcery. Don’t sweat it, you will understand soon enough- or not.
Whereas with women there are two breasts, which invites conversation, just as a good behind presents perfect punctuation, something every man knows.
Can’t make sense of the above? Well, neither can I dear, lets move on.
It still is the month of February so we are still on the rather unexciting subject of romanticism. It never occurred to me that Jessie’s promiscuity may have something to do with my lack thereof, or that Kenny is a self-appointed hoe who ‘loyally’ wingmans his way through incalculable flexible thighs and eager hearts while explaining it away as (over)compensation for the absence of my romantic endeavours, simply put, he whores for 2.
Males consider February as the blessed month of fornication. It is also a period where hampers are given out in expectation of favor(s). Friend-zoned males are given temporary status elevation in the hopes of an expensive showing of undying love-in physical manifestation of course. This February, Kenny decided to take on the task of finding me a ‘rewarding’ female thanks to my persistent single status.
I travelled to the Federal Capital Territory, Nigeria for a few days of work and at some point met up with Kenny who decided to relocate to my hotel room for the duration of my stay. One late afternoon, I return to my room to go over the day’s brief and catch an hour or 2 of nap. About half an hour later, I receive a whatsapp message from my self-imposed roommate
“On my way back. With company”
“Grab me something to eat” I replied.
“Your mother, I am not” came the prompt response.
“Rice and ofada sauce. Grilled chicken. Thanks Mama Yoda” I responded secure in the knowledge that Kenny was more likely to buy a bottle of alcohol for lunch than real food.
Among my weird peculiarities is a strong dislike of crowded spaces, my subconscious had read ‘with company’ part of his first statement as ^#&!! !@ so it didn’t consciously register and left me faintly surprised when Kenny arrived with a female companion. Another weird peculiarity is my ability to hold a conversation with eyes and Kenny had somehow picked up this ocular language.
Zibah’ eyes: “pig! you are not shagging on my bed or the sheets that I will sleep on”. I tilt my head to the hotel’ corridor “go bang there.”
My ocular tirade goes unacknowledged as Kenny saunters in (without food) and introduces his female friend and lets her know to ‘make herself at home’ (sighs!). Acting oblivious to my mounting displeasure, he brings out his phone and goes on to say rather loudly “oh! You wanted lunch. I am just seeing your message man. Let me drive to the restaurant and get it”
I revert to ocular speech “nigga what are you doing?” I indicate with my right eyes at his female friends “why is she here?” I get the ocular response of “you need a girlfriend. I found one. Socialize fool”.
To say I wanted to introduce his face to that local grinding stone our mothers used for crushing pepper back in the days would be putting it mildly. I tried to think of what wrong I’d done to the universe that I was rewarded with an imbecile pimp as a friend. I tried to tell him ocularly to go drown somewhere foul and take her along but was greeted by my hotel room’s door slamming to punctuate his exit. The ensuing silence was loud with possibilities; I could throw the lady off my balcony (homicide ke. Nigerian police will finish you in prison) or leave her alone in the room (what if she steals your stuff?) or probably strip naked and terrify her sensibilities with my crudeness (but what if that excites her instead?? sigh). I settled for mostly ignoring the lady who seemed rather at home on my side sofa. I spare her an appraising glance and just when I was coming to the conclusion that I was displeased, she opens her nude painted lips “can I have a smoke?”
“I don’t have any” I reply.
I tried to keep my face dispassionate seeing as I am not fond of smokers and drinkers. In a bid to appear gentlemanly, I proceeded to ask if she wants anything to which she responded in the affirmative and pointed possessively at the half finished bottle of alcohol Kenny left on my side refrigerator. She smokes? She drinks? She has no sense of decorum or seemingly any sense at all?? I started to formulate plans of disposing Kenny’s body as I reached for the bottle and handed it over to her. The alcohol seemed to animate Ms Codeine, within seconds she had run through her life history and bio and was talking about what she does for fun. I nodded in the appropriate places and made what she must have assumed were encouraging sounds as she enthusiastically described ‘fun’ activities when something she said pricked through the fog that had settled on my mind and glazed over my brain
“Yes na, codeine. I can drink 10 botus of Gulder (bottles-the more she talked, the weaker her command of English) in 10 minutes but codeine na where e dey sweet pass” she replies and happily goes on to describe how she distils codeine from cough syrup for a stronger effect. Adding drunk and addict to her list, I reach for my phone and send a text to Kenny “Help!!!” with a tear-faced smiley. A stronger man may have taken charge of the situation and even introduced her to Jesus, I just wanted her gone but didn’t have the nerve to kick her out. How the hell does Kenny know her again? My phone chimes with a reply from Kenny “why, she doesn’t want to bang? Confused smiley” At this point, I was absolutely sure I had gravely offended someone/something powerful.
Kenny returns a few minutes later, Ms Codeine’s lips are wrapped lovingly around the bottle of alcohol drawing forth miserly, measured gulps, by the time she comes up for breath the hoarse talking would resume, I had no wish to be there when that happened so I grabbed the food, my mac and Kenny’s car keys leaving him to deal with the situation. At this point, I would have gone cross-eyed if I bothered on any form of ocular reprimands.
You ask a man and he says, ‘Don’t ask.’ Ask a woman and you’ll be dead of old age before she’s finished. Hah. Hah ha!!!
I returned 2 hours later to an empty room and a bed that looked curiously rumpled. I throw off the duvet just in case and crawl into bed. Room service will have to take care of that tomorrow. Kenny didn’t return this night- so he does have sense? A few minutes later I drift off to bed still boo-less and grateful for it going by recent options-lol!
Did I mention Ms Codeine (now you understand where her name came from) had a nasal voice, not like sensual and smokey more like a female Vin Diesel. Creepy? You don’t know the half of it. Will Kenny attempt to hook me up with other ladies, of that I have absolutely no doubt. Will it likely be a disaster? You betcha, I can only hope this time around that it includes BDSM and other natural deviancies. What? To each man his poison.