This chic, i have known her for a very short while and she already thinks am a psycho job, just coz i stated the obvious. Ok, you might think i felt insulted being called a psycho. Quite the contrary, i liked it!
I will take you through the entire thing step by step.
Girl meets boy, boy meets girl. We drink cold mineral water and chat for an interestingly long period. I had asked her whether she wanted tea, coffee or a soft drink, she chose water. I take leave from work early so i could take her home.
I am 5ft 8, she is 4ft 8. I think she enjoys walking beside me!
My house in is a total mess. A cockroach does a skidding sprint on the floor tiles. it’s quite a show. She doesn’t seem to mind though, the conversation was captivating.
Things look awesome….ok, by things i mean the connection between two souls who may have been searching for each other for decades.
Next day we keep calling and texting and whatsapping. She tells me i am an answered prayer which makes me feel special. I never thought myself as an answered prayer ever before.
That night when i was sleeping i wanted to dream about her just so i could tell her in the morning that she was the girl of my dreams. I dreamt about cabbages and Eskimos and Obelix. I gave up on dreaming about her.
In the next few days we have breakfast with her cousin who gives me a vote of confidence (a wink and tick in the air).
A week later she is like, dude i wanna call this off.
Am like, no way.
She is like WAY!!
Why, i mean, why? I thought i was an answered prayer?
You expect a lot from me.
No i don’t….i mean, i do but i don’t.
She doesn’t directly accuse me of anything wrong i may have done but she keeps ‘insinuating’ (that’s a heavy word she used in her last text message this past weekend) stuff that is supposed to make me feel guilty.
Stuff a woman who loves you dearly would say to push you away.
Man, am a difficult dude. I have a heart of granite. It does not melt. I also insinuate things! Then i tend to be a tad sarcastic in such situations. Ok, very sarcastic.
I had lent her a book, one of my favourite reads by a great award winning Kenyan writer; Blossoms of the Savannah by Henry Ole Kulet. It’s about 2 maasai girls. Buy yourself a copy, it’s awesome.
So i tell her to give me back my book.
Well, i mean, this book has been autographed by the author so i understandably have a sentimental attachment to it. Give it back girl!!!! i yell on text!
(I get deeply hurt when i give out my books and they are not brought back. Or they are indeed returned but in such a mess you would think they survived The Holocaust.)
She rants. I think she was really mad at me about something i didn’t even know about.
She goes like, do i have to block all your numbers?
Am like, if that’s what you want it’s fine by me, but after you give me back my book!
You are a weird kind of twisted, a psycho. There is something seriously wrong with you!
I know that. I ask her whether I am the special kind of twisted. She did not answer.
I never deny that am twisted, i really am twisted, that’s why i write. Writing is for twisted people, not normal!
So i text her like, sorry am this twisted, kindly let me know where i can pick up my book. We could actually hug and kiss a proper good bye!
Have a nice life, she said.
My book, i said. And then, unto a completely unrelated subject, i love the rain (it’s been raining everyday in Mombasa).
I think she looked at that last text, shook her head (she has lovely baby locks) and threw her iphone on the pillow.
She has a very pretty smile by the way.
I think she misses me alot! i Miss her too. And am toooo lazy to edit the italics again!!!!