Something about Monday Mornings
Weekends mean different things to different people. To some it is an opportunity to cool off after another maniacally hectic week. To some it is an opportunity to go to church, visit folks upcountry or about town. To some, it is time to get a lay or have some good time out here.
For those who go home or to church, we have no business with them today. They are basically doing the right things and no one writes about right things any more. Let us just talk about the perverted type who must be laid or do something ‘exciting’.
There is something incredulous about Monday morning. Something elusive. Something pretentious. Something impossible. Faces wear different countenances; smiles, simpers(that sheepish smile), grins, indifference, implacability and all that. For women you will see different hairstyles, beautiful skins and a radiance about them that is quite revealing about their weekend escapades.
There is something telling about Monday mornings. You can tell who did what with who over the weekend. You can tell who had a good a weekend from who had a bad one. Just look on their faces, those who look generally irritable didn’t get a sex of their life that they had so much anticipated the previous week. Those with sunny dispositions must have screamed the names of sex gods in some lodging or in the apartments of their yuppie boyfriends.
So if you seated in office or class and the woman next to you seems busy and focused but with a satisfying look, she probably ruminating over the unforgettable experience over the weekend. And women can pretend, like nothing really happened. The British Comedian Seymour Hicks once said ‘No one knows more about women than I do. And I know nothing,’ I have never agreed with a statement so much.
Moving on about the sexual escapades, it is women who nowadays anticipate a good lay. Not men anymore. I’m still trying to figure out why? Someone help me. Every other day, my yuppie or corporate friends always tell me that their women will be coming over and they are the ones insisting. Women between 20-30 love their sex. And those who date the loaded men love it doubly.
I’m talking about college or varsity women or the those newly working, not yet married. Marriage is a different ball game together. To this women, their weekends are exciting experiences they constantly look forward to. They are dirty minded, walking sexual encyclopedias. We live in a sex era, where everything begins, revolves and ends with sex.
A weekend without a good lay is incomplete, unless she is inconvenienced with the inevitable bad days of the month. By Friday afternoon, they have switched off from their place of work or even school. Friday night, they be rubbing their asses against men’s groins in Nairobi’ s 637, night clubs and restaurants. And nowadays, they are only dancing with women, to this we shall talk about it in our subsequent posts.
Back to these women. They are magnificently excited about the whole weekends. They have a life. They like it. They live it. Look at the attention they paying to their looks and make-up. Nowadays, every other woman’s income is dedicated to her makeup. Look at the expensive hairstyles. Look at the way they dress and you get the drift that everything is geared towards making them look irresistibly sexy. Not a bad thing…only that it has become a tad tedium.
Every day of the week, we peeping into cleavages, some really not worth exposing. Every day of the week we are treated to all shapes of bottoms, some really grotesque and an eye sore. Every day, we are served with thighs, some good, but some bony or with stretch marks so boring it hurts. It just sucks. I wish women could be a little sensitive in whatever they do. We are tired of these blatant and brazen displays of sexuality.
Yet, today, this cool Monday, we are back to school and to class. I see everyone absorbed into distant memories that are now fading. I can see that look of ‘haki Mike ni mzuri’ or ‘that was one hell of an orgasms’. For men, it makes little difference. Because, for us, when it comes to sex, I can’t remember the last time, Time was an issue. Any day of the week, regardless, is time for IT.
To Phoebe, for disappointing all the men who have constantly admired you. How could you? No one knew that you come that cheap…. You owe us an apology.