In the wake of that piece about side chicks a couple of months ago, two of my female friends sulked for days and, after realizing that I’m not a mind reader, asked me why I was writing about their relationship troubles on the blog. Naturally, I was astounded by these accusations because that article was about men, not women. It was my male friends whom I had expected to complain since I may have remotely sampled some of their love lives on that piece. They did not. Unnaturally, I was happy about it because they just provided me with more fodder for the blog. Turns out they were also torn between marrying their boyfriends or the side niggas.
As of press time of that post, I thought they had broken up with the side niggas and only the main guys were in the running for a marriage certificate. I was wrong. Seems no one bothers to update their dating files with me anymore. But this didn’t bother me as much as the fact that there are side niggas out here who want to replace the main man. This country is in a crisis; the quality of side niggas and side chicks has so drastically dropped that we need a National Prayer Breakfast to summon divine intervention. It’s either you guys are dumb as hell or are attracted to pain or both. Why would you want to be the main guy of someone who has a side dish?
What’s more damning though, along with the fact that my female friends are just as horrible as my male friends, is that my friends think I don’t have other friends. Sure, I have gone to clubs and proclaimed that I don’t talk to strangers when someone initiates a conversation. I also once showed up to the only kid’s birthday party I have ever attended in my adult life at 7 O’clock in the evening and found that the party was over. It was almost the birthday boy’s bedtime when I arrived. In my time, kids only went to bed when The Bold and The Beautiful music came on. Kids these days sleep at 7 so they can wake up at 3 am to wait for the school bus. With suitcases strapped on their backs. I still stuffed myself with pilau and chapati though. In my defence, I thought kid’s birthday parties were to celebrate the parent(s), and adults are busy people who have things to do during the day. You don’t show up at 2 in the afternoon for a party unless you are helping out in the kitchen. I have never been invited to that party again. Or maybe they stopped celebrating that kid’s birthday altogether. Who knows?
But even with glaring gaps in my social skills, my social life is not in shambles as that of my friends. You see, most of my friends are either 30 or turning 30 soon. So they take every opportunity to remind me that we need to get our shit together and settle down since we are almost 30. Which is good advice except that it’s them who are almost 30. I am not. I still have a couple of good years left in me. And my shit is as together as I want it to be. If the 30-year-olds I have met are typical of people that age, then someone lied to my friends that 30 is the age by which they should have their shit together.
I don’t have ovaries that are shrivelling and neither have I caught baby fever – if at all that’s an actual thing. They are in a rush to get hitched. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s their parents demanding grandchildren. It turns out that the tick-tocking of the biological clock is not a myth, but an actual thing.
These are people who, unlike me, have solid careers in fields they actually studied in college. I don’t even have a career; I am a man who does anything for money as long as it meets my rates. My friends, on the other hand, have good careers and stable supply of legal tender so they can’t even excuse themselves with ‘No Money, No Honey.’ So it’s only right that they feel all the pressure they are having to get hitched. Come to think of it, these guys should have settled down kitambo sana. But somehow they are struggling to find suitable partners. There is a stark difference between someone you’d sleep with and someone you’d marry. They have an abundance of the former but are a little short on the latter.
This may be due to their many character flaws. I mean it’s hard to love people who find chapo matumbo delicious. Perhaps it’s karma’s revenge for breaking the hearts of men and women who have truly loved them. It’s hard to tell which specific sin they are getting punished for because they are many. But I want to believe they have now seen the folly of their ways and are ready to walk on the straight and narrow. Since I am a good friend, I have decided to help out. Not that they have told me explicitly that they need me to wingman them but you can tell when people need help.
You know someone needs a wingman when they get back with the ex they swore never to even take a look at if they were last two people on earth. That ex they incited you to say vile things about. Now they cannot even reintroduce you to them now that they have gotten back together. The dating policy of my lady friends as they approach 30 has changed to ‘better the devil you know…’ They have given up on find their Prince Charming that they have settled now with people I now have less opinion of because of what they told me about them. In the past year, I have seen people who I think must have tried to bewitch their baby daddies and exes get back with them that I am persuaded to believe that Ezekiel Mutua might just feature on Akothee’s music video.
You know a brother needs the intervention of your charm and charisma when he tries to convince a woman who is the human manifestation of a vulture to marry him. You know a man needs a wingman if the woman he intends to marry tells him that he can find someone better who is ready to settle down. Men seldom go back to their exes because somehow our exes promptly get married or pregnant when we break up with them. He doesn’t even have to say he needs your tried and proven wingman skills when he thinks the random woman with a sponsor in a bar is fit to be introduced to his parents.
One of my he-goats went to a club recently to gargle liquid happiness. From the sina taabu stool he was perching on, he spotted a woman. A beautiful, well-endowed woman who was not shy to bounce her derriere to bongo music. The only hurdle was that she was in the company of pensioners. In his assessment, they could not match the woman’s energy. Perhaps he was so beguiled by the gracious movements of her waist or it was liquid courage but he decided to approach her.
Since he was raised to respect his elders, he went to ask them for their permission to approach the woman and ask her for a dance. Permission was granted, and he asked the lady for a dance. She acquiesced. Instead of enjoying the gyrations and rhythmic pounding of flesh on his nether regions to Tetema, and maybe ask for her number discreetly, my friend asked her to abandon her sponsors and consider dating him. He had already pictured her in a white Victorian wedding dress. It’s actions like these that explains why I have other friends who I don’t introduce them to. Yaani you are getting a lapdance from a beautiful woman in a dress that shows a trailer that seems like the full movie, and all you can visualize is a wedding dress!
She politely told him no but offered him her number if he was inclined to a more fun arrangement. And that’s why I am here asking for any woman who wants to get married to a financially-stable, almost 30-year-old man with no beard to get in touch. Because at this point the only quality my friend is looking for in a woman is a big ass and a pretty face. Being light-skinned is an added advantage.