She has seen it all. A good relationship. A bad relationship. Good sex. Bad sex. Tall men. Short men. Well-hung men. Men who could do with some enlargement where it matters. She has been there, done it, got the medal. This medal can be a child, an abortion, a scar from an abusive relationship, a bad marriage and with luck, a good marriage.
A woman at 28 is either settled, shocked, confused or lost. Settled, if in a marriage or has decided that marriage is not her cup of, eeer sorry glass of…wait, bottle of whiskey. Shocked, if she still can’t see how 28 came too fast. Confused, if she still hasn’t figured out how to deal with men and relationships. To wit, she cannot separate love from sex. Lost if she has let herself go, completely; sleeps around too much, drinks too much. Basically,amejiachilia.
28 is a phenomenal year for a woman. And it comes sooner. Just two or three years, after campus and she is 28. By then, she would have brushed off potential suitors based on their looks or income. Between 24(when they finish campus) and 28, when they are possibly in stable employment or marriage, a lot happens. For instance, dropping that shady campus boyfriend. It happens. I know because I have been dumped.
A woman at 28 is a dangerous woman. She has a past as mysterious as life in Mars. She has baggage enough to fill all the warehouses in Nairobi. She has more issues than all the second hand magazines along Kenyatta Avenue, Moi Avenue, Kimathi Street, Tom Mboya and I think Ronald Ngala Street.
She has one or two exes who can sexually access her. One such ex wields so much power on her that when she will get married, he can still get it. At 28, a mature and intelligent woman will know her place in the food chain. She is fully aware of the stretch marks creeping on her otherwise smooth body. The boobs finally start that inevitable interaction with gravity and for some the tires begin to circle her waist.
In the meantime, younger and fresh girls will be surfacing everywhere. In a club, younger, nubile girls fresh out of their parents’ tutelage will be grinding their asses on the groins of men, and she will neither be having the grace nor the agility to match up with them. Well, she can afford her drinks, but men treat her with velvet gloves. Younger ones want to fleece her money. Men her age want to touch and go. Men who want to settle with her are either bald, pregnant (read potbellied) and generally old-fashioned for her.
At the work place, she may have flirted with the boss, even slept with him but now younger employees, newer interns are challenging her space and she can feel it. Compliments have become fewer. Extremely. Nobody notices her new hairstyle. Nobody notices her fashion sense. That killer dress that exposes her thighs goes unnoticed. Simply because the new intern can dress her ass and that cleavage sexily. And that is enough distraction.
At 28, if she is single, the internal pressure to marry can be unrelenting. The level of desperation is somewhere between orange and red. Aunts and other relatives will be on her case, reminding her of the potential benefits of marriage. Needless to mention that the most vociferous people about marriage are probably the ones stuck in bad marriages.
At 28, one or two friends would have done a grand wedding, probably aired on a TV station and she felt green with envy. She has attended a dozen baby showers and now she doesn’t mind robbing a man-at gun point-some sperms to validate her womanhood. Without a stable man around, a wedding around the corner, marriage on the horizon or a kid, she has the right to panic.
28.28.28. It is normally time to take stock of her adult life. The relationships she has been through. The men she has loved. The men she has hated. The men she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about. The men, she will date all over again. The ones who seemed so OK, only to turn up disappointments in bed. The ones she initially dated, hated and they turned just fine. That one ex, she regrets leaving. The one she left with one pair of shoes and next thing she knew, he was the regional director of some NGO. He now flies First Class. Wears shoes worth 52 K, and gets all the P in town. It happens. She has ever wanted back, but the man was professionally cool about it,
“See, I really like you, but I think coming back won’t change a thing. We will be friends and anytime you need a hand or a shoulder, I will always be there,’ that is what he told her. And actually, he once or twice did help her.
At 28, the future is either bright or disastrous. Bright, if she has the correct footing in business or the corporate world. Bright if she has found the man to take down to marital prison. It becomes disastrous when she doesn’t have her sh*t together. And more and more women are increasingly finding themselves in this familiar territory. Whereby at 28, they are acting like young girls in campus.
More to the point, mostly they know their market in the social market is diminishing, either they become bitter and bitch to compensate for their shortcomings. They adopt a false sense of confidence whereby she develops a protective shield, from the world that is increasingly becoming judgmental about stuff, she cannot control. She becomes authoritative, impatient with fools and generally bitchy and butch.
The loneliness is always evident. She starts watching mature women stuff. You know Sex and the City and Real HouseWives crappies. She is home with her electronics and teddy bear, hoping and waiting for that call. And it is about this time she decides to pick a pet. If she picks a cat, there is still room to salvage her. If she picks a dog, it is over. A woman who picks a dog for a pet is decidedly narcissist. Probably a lesbian or has severe personal limitations that only the dog can tolerate. And to hope the dog doesn’t get more rights than a man, in the bedroom…