Generally, I am stupid. While some ladies have found me fairly intelligent, others handsome (especially the visually challenged and the extremely drunk), I affect a certain level of stupidity that often lands me in regrettable trouble. Hence this tale.
We keeping up with jAnus. Remember him from last week’s blog? I have every reason to insist that the J in his name is silent. And I am not making this one up. He is called Janus. Or Janas. He is a monumental prick. And here is why.
I didn’t call when I was dropping by Phanice’s place on Tuesday, when Uhuru was being inaugurated at Kasarani. I should have called. See I was rapping and whistling one of my favourite numbers. Rapping where I knew the lyrics and whistling where I didn’t know the words. The song: ‘Hey Ma’ by Cam’ron featuring Juel Santana.
I knocked on the door and twisted the lock. I walked in confidently, chest pressed forward, head held high and generally trying to keep the fact that Uhuru is our president out of my mind. And as I walked into the sitting room, I saw jAnus seated on the sofa, his legs on the coffee table. That is a very comfortable pose that tells you immediately that he has laid the lady of the house.
One of my strengths is the ability to draw conclusions which are 99.99% correct. He was in a milky white unsershirt and a track suit. FML. I stopped whistling and gave him one appraising look, expecting him to cut the eye contact, but he got balls. Under such circumstances, whoever says ‘hi?’ first loses. At the 7th second he mumbled a merely audible,
‘Naje.’ I said curtly. He had some strong and decent cologne on that combined with his body odour and overnight sweating to render the sitting room with a strong feral and masculine scent. That combined with my hatred and jealousy made the testosterone levels in the environment palpable.
To throw him of guard, I sneezed, cleared my throat sarcastically and wore a childish and a knowing smile on my face. To jerk him further, I entered the washroom to show him that I was very familiar with the house and I wanted him to inadvertently think that I’m one of the numerous men that Phanice lays. And I have accepted my role as a stud.
In the washroom, the loser in me made me look around for any sign of male life. I looked at the soap. There was some long and wavy pubic hair on it. Presumably female. There were two short hairs. Presumably male. I checked on the number of toothbrushes inside the cup. They were at least ten. If I can use the colour theory, and assuming there were no gay friends, four had what you can call masculine colours and three were pink, purple and red; that makes them female. I checked on the pants. There was a lace thong, a lingerie and the normal panties and one that looked like what Avril once wore on those online nudes. There was a male boxer, tucked on the far end of the pipe that looked like it had stayed there since the time Churchil was funny, some three years ago.
This moment of introspection and retrospection took me about 1 minute and 23 or 24 seconds. Then I had Phanice voice speak in the sitting room. I listened and I heard her say,
“Sweets, wacha tutumie tu ya white.” Sweets, what did I miss here? Then I heard jAnus utter something like…
“And you make some eggs as well,” in a controlled, confident voice. There was a riot in my head akin to the Second World War. Then I walked out of the bathroom into the sitting room and I found her seated on the arm-rest of the sofa, cuddling. jAnus, had the casual disinterest of the man who had his fun and didn’t want Phanice bothering him reading his newspaper.
When Phanice saw me, she suppressed her surprise look and acted normal. The first thing she said was…
“We ulinienjoy ticko za Blankets & Wines.” She said this with a straight face. Women.
“Ilikuwa when?’’ jAnus inquired. More like telling me and Phanice that he can afford that any day any time. He is not into that shit of complimentary tickets…
I stood there nonplussed. It is difficult to hide hatred, downplay disappointment, or escape the envy that engulfs one under such circumstances. I gave jAnus one look of disapproval and he looked back in manner that said, ‘I f**ked her. So F**k you.’ The look the ex of the man gives the new boyfriend if they ever meet is not a good one. If contemptuous, he will be like, ‘he sucked my D before he did yours’. If he still feels the chick, the other man will be like, ‘she is sucking mine’.
“Haukunipigia nilikuwa nazo,” I told Phanice in a defeated voice. She gave me that sympathetic look women give you when they have committed a mistake or when they want to leave you and you are clueless. jAnus gave me that mocking look of ‘see, I got bigger balls.’
Phanice went to the bedroom and came back with a package and gave it to me and told me that he would pass by the office later in the week to check on me. There was no invitation for breakfast. For the three minutes she was gone, I endured the worst humiliation any man can endure. jAnus sat there, reading his newspaper, and flipping the TV channels.
What I learnt is that women are generally bad judges of character. And they are driven by physical impulses just like men. jAnus does not look clever or intelligent. Bright? Certainly not. I mean, I possess some royal genes and good pedigree but an intelligent lady like Phanice can afford to call a stupid, useless SOB ‘Sweets’ and call me by my first name points to where the world is going. You wonder is this why we fought for the new constitution. Or is it the reason why Mboya was assassinated.
But maybe, jAnus drives and uses a better cologne while I am stuck with a Nivea roll-on in 2013. Life.