You step into the apartment. The music stops. Two dozen heads turn to face you. The ladies instinctively check you out from head to toe. You’ve never understood how ladies who are not exactly fashionistas still judge a man by how he dresses, especially his shoes. Woe unto you if you have cheap shoes. Good thing, looking good is your second nature.
It’s one of those Fridays you feel quite lost. You have watched all movies on your computer and your girlfriend, well she hasn’t been talking to you for the last three days just because you forgot your anniversary. Seriously, how do women expect us to remember birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentines? For Pete’s sake, lets just combine all these days and celebrate them on one day say 1st January? I mean we already other important things to occupy our minds like soccer and cars.
While contemplating on how to add some excitement to your night, Dan, your neighbor pops in. He suggests you visit the new local bar. When someone mentions a local bar, the image that comes to mind is a shitty, stuffy room with rickety wooden benches for seats, full of old Kikuyu men talking about their waru farms back in Nyahururu. The only female present is the no-nonsense barmaid with cheap makeup and probably a 40-something-year-old woman with a stinky weave and a black petticoat protruding beneath her grey skirt-suit. However, Dan is a great wingman so you give it a shot.
On Thursday night, I went for the Captain Africa Contest and premiere of the Captain America: The winter soldier, a 3-D movie at IMAX. While the other contestants were asked to talk about their ambitions and what they would do if they won the title this particular judge only asked me the number of buttons my pea coat had.Since I didn’t know how many they were (later found out that they are 12 buttons) I was deemed unfit for the title. Dejected, I left the theater at 3am and walked to Ronald Ngala Street to catch a Matatu back to campus.