You sigh a lot nowadays, whether in text or physically. You rarely feel anything anymore. You have lived long enough to know some things are not worth wasting your emotions over. Even when you do feel something, you’re human after all, you move on very fast.
You have a crush in the office building. He looks like a sweet chap. But every moment you get, you ignore him, pretend not to see him, unless your eyes lock and you have no choice of pretending not to have seen him. Hi there. He probably has a girlfriend or wife, in all likelihood. There’s no way he irons those dress pants himself. If he does, then you don’t know what to think. You don’t want a guy who’s that neat. You want to be neat for him, to be the reason he’s neat. Lol.That is the building crush. After 5, you’re back to fielding questions from people who should not be asking you such questions. Not in the least. A dude with a wife and kids makes jokes. You’re past the age where you flirt with people to no end. Those days are behind you like your kisogo. So you give him a stern warning and threaten to sever any professional relationship that you may have. Some men have no shame whatsoever. You want to believe that not all men are like that.
Your brother from another mother is at it again. You sense emotional blackmail on the way. You thought you were past this. Turns out you’re not. You’re still not sure what he is doing. So you can’t put it out there just yet. No. He who is your boyfriend to everyone else except you finally comes out of the woods to ask the tough questions. Why can’t we work? He asks. We just can’t. Why? Because I said so. Really? Because that’s just the way it is. Okay. Fine. It would just be wrong. Wrong to who? To us. Are you sure this is not about everyone else? As eggs. I think this is about what people have been saying. No it’s not. Then tell me the real reason. You know the real reason. Tell me. Our friend. The end.
Days come and go. You get super tired early in the day. February’s books are not super exciting. You go back to movies back to back on all-day-indoors weekends. You watch Joy and you feel re-energized in your womanly quest. You cry watching all the movies except one. Pillow soaks in your tears. It feels good. At least you’re not crying over a man, you console yourself. The movie you don’t cry over is a whole other story. Spectre. You watch the first 30 minutes, the incredibly boring opening credits included in the count, over a period of three nights. Oh, the helicopter scene was cool? Please. You need more than one cool scene in a movie. You get to the point he is fraternising with a widow (for crying out loud) and you’re suddenly very excited, after the many minutes of boredom. You start to wish that someone was holding you like that. Making you feel nice and whatnot. You close your eyes to fantasise because Bond is just boring after that quick scene. You begin to doze off. Movie not working. You hit the start button and hibernate. Time to sleep. But suddenly you can’t, now that boring Daniel is not lulling you anymore. You hit YouTube for trailers and related videos. The kissing scenes continue to excite. You feel guilty after a while. You miss a kiss every now and then. You are human after all. Sigh.
Your wardrobe is getting a more adult touch everyday. You even have a guy that calls you when he gets new stock. You make sure you contribute as much as you can to the family and any other case that needs help that you can ably provide. Your shoes still suck. It rains and you realize you literally have no shoes to be proud of. Like seriously, where does everyone else get their cool boots? You’re so blinded by Bata. Everyday, you get to obsess over a new song. Today is rock, tomorrow it’s a local song, yesterday was the Coke ad track. You can’t hurry love. How appropriate, girls! Love don’t come easy.
It’s church time. You love Jesus. You also love babies and so you teach Sunday school. You are convinced that the reason you are so used to this is because raising one of your own will be a walk in the park. Sometimes they drive you crazy though and bring you back to reality. Sunday afternoon is spent with whoever wants to hang out on the said date. You sit across from him and wonder why he asked if you’re the one initiating talk the whole time. Oh well, time to split the bill, it wouldn’t be fair for him. He seems to have been unprepared for the ordeal of hanging out with an extremely over expectant girl. Looks like you’re going to have to stick to taking yourself out for now.
You continue getting blog posts in your messaging apps about weddings of former schoolmates and others who are wives sans the hullabaloo that comes with becoming one. Maybe you’ll also get married undercover like that. That would be something, ey? Looks like only you gets the jokers. Maybe if you cared a bit more.