It is early in the morning.
I have been moving around searching for things I don’t find. This house is too big; there are so many things to keep track of and so many places to keep in mind. So many rooms, cabinets, kitchen boards, cupboards, drawing boards, wardrobes, boardrooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms……even the names are turning into tongue-twisters.
I have socks on, a T-shirt, underwear but no trousers….can’t spot the woolen pantaloon trousers I have been looking for all along.
There are so many things they get me confused. There are deadlines, diaries, database, directions, directories, dictionaries, descriptions and discordance…… routines. I miss my neat one roomed house many years back where I could manage everything singly.
Today being yet another Saturday, I have dedicated morning hours typing this story. Several months before our marriage, I narrated my life experiences to my girlfriend who is now my wife. Mariah liked the tales so much she convinced me to write them down. She said it would make an exciting novel some day!
Who was I not to jump into such a project especially with full force backing from a wife? She further designed and arranged my writing area which is at the far end of the main living room. She brought my favourite sculptures; put her adored potted plants surrounding the place to give me a ‘refreshing sight and smell.’ She makes sure I have a hot or cold beverage as I work. Sometimes she joins me while doing her stuff on her laptop until late in the night.
I proceed to my usual seat behind the computer, boot it up and screw my mind into a creative repose. The Aquarium is torrid with some wild activity; if the fish are not fighting, then they must be mating. I put my fingers on the keyboard and the familiar khack-khack-ka-la-ka-la-ka-la noise begins.
After a long duration of time, Mariah emerges from the corridor wrapped up in a white towel and a matching head turban. She has a thermos and a tray with breakfast.
“Morning Sweetie, why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Because you were snoring too loudly I couldn’t stand it a second.” I answer her.
“You know I don’t.”
“I know you don’t.”
She drags a small side table near my working place and carefully sets the tray and thermos.
“You sounded like this,” I suck air between my teeth and make long grunting coughs.
“Don’t be silly.”
“Silly? No, I want you to think of a better word that means the same. See….” I point the monitor of the computer.
“This sentence here needs such a word but more catchy than that simple silly thing.”
“You mean you are mimicking snoring to infuriate me to create words for your story?” She glares at me.
“No, I was anticipating you would……”
“Shut up you….you, nincompoop, daft, dullard, duffer, dunderhead, dummy, da…..”
“Enough, see; you’re such a genius in silly words. You must be this silly. But have you ever wondered, why did you say ‘shut up’ instead of shut down?”
“Because when talking, only the lower jaw moves on a downward direction; to close the mouth, it links ‘up’ back to the upper jaw. Why are you so silly in the morning?”
“It’s the silly Testosterone.”
She looks up briefly. “What about it, what is it?”
I look at her incredulously. “Don’t be silly. Testosterone is the male hormone that brings about libido energy. It collects throughout the night when one is asleep and has its peak in the morning. That is why most men wake up hard. And this could hamper good objective thinking.”
Her brow rises and she smiles.
“Eheem, So your thinking is hampered, you are thinking haphazardly, you are thinking in a silly manner.”
I point at the aquarium where the usual lazy and sluggish fish are zooming and swooping in jet-like speeds round the glass. The big two, as we call them are visible as iridescent fast-paced objects while the rest dot the glass in gleaming galaxy specks.
“See that hyper activity there! Testosterone at work early in the morning!”
She stares in consternation. “What are they doing? Is it a traditional dance?”
She moves over to investigate.
“You silly! Don’t you dare go near that thing. I told you, see how those males desire you like a piece of cake. I swear they would have you fixed silly if……..”
“Oh co’ on, don’t be silly sweetie.”
“What, don’t you believe?”
I rise up and wander over to her. The fish suddenly quell their foray and swim onto the surface glass to investigate our presence. The big two are eyeing her deviously again, they are circling her…
“See what I am seeing, I can sense they have developed a special liking for you already.” I tell her.
She breaks into peals of laughter.
“And you?” she quips cynically.
“Don’t be silly.”
She has this mischievous look on her face and a sly smile. Her eyes crawl down my body to a certain position. I look down on myself. Boy, don’t you remind me, I forgot to wear trousers – - oh my, what happened to the woolen pantaloons I was looking for? Both my hands rush into a certain position and form a fist.
The stickers in matatu interiors read, chunga mizigo yako! She chuckles. “What are you doing? What are you hiding? From who?”
“From the silly fish.”
“Because of why.”
She blows a kiss into the air and dances a jig. “Waoh, let me see babe.”
“No, no, no, the fish would see too.”
She is standing there scrutinizing me like a well-carved sculpture.
“Wipe out that silly smile off your face,” I hiss.
“O.k. boy, come on and show me in the bedroom.” She drawls and winks. The owner of Winks Holdings company is winking wickedly at me. Boy, I am a goner! She takes my arm but I decline following her. “You will have to show me first.” I say
“After you have shown me.” she retorts moodily.
“Just before I show you.” I hit back
“As soon as you show me,” she says confrontationally.
“Just about the time I will be showing you.”
“At the moment I will be showing you.”
“Then, as you show me, I’ll be showing you.”
“Agreed, check mate!” She nods her head and taps my palm with hers.
“But, my breakfast w…..”
“Don’t be silly!” She grabs me and leads me away. I throw my hands up and blurt out Will Smith’s song Don’t Be Silly, Get Jiggy With It.
Even music artists have discovered the magic with this silly stupid thing. Shania Twain sings Don’t be stupid! She stops abruptly and I bump into her. ‘Sshh, wait sweetie, what is the operating word?” she asks.
I look at her and smile. “Don’t be silly.” I declare.
“Correct,” she announces in a breathy voice. We proceed on ….
If you are still following us, don’t be silly! But you can close the door for us!