Celebrating East African Writing!
Love; such a demanding name! She walks in the bar and a different scent hits the air. The smells of maintenance and arguments; that is what love smells like to me. She is dressed in a pink dress. She sits at the bar alone, waiting on someone to come up to her and show interest. She is peering all around as through looking for someone, but she is scouting for her future husband; poor bastard. I think she could use my company. I know I am a nuisance, but she needs it.
Her handbag is on the next free stool. I pick it and put it in front of her as I sit. She stares down at me, and I sneer back. It is a free country; what? I order a Guinness. She is sipping reds. A white scarf is steadfastly wrapped around her neck; no cleavage is showing. She must be a virgin! Her dignity still matters to her, even in a bar. I try to make small talk and at least save her the hustle.
“Listen Love, you are not going to find what you are looking for here.”
“Mind your business bitch!”
“Let me guess, you are looking to find a rebound like your other friend who found this really nice guy from a bar. Yes?”
“Well, your friend was no virgin like you. That is why you will not find what you are looking for here.”
She turns to look for another seat. I know I am a nuisance. She finds no luck, so she plays along.
“Let me guess, bitch. You are here hunting for a man to pay your rent. Yes?”
“Actually, no; that job belongs to the hooker seated on the right corner with two men. Look at her shoes. They scream hoochie mama.”
She laughs. “Right. But she looks decent enough. Why are you so judgmental?”
“She would not be seated with them unless they have a deal. Give her two hours, and a few drinks. Her bosom will be all over.”
“Why are you here?”
“Same reason we are all here; with the hopes of getting laid.”
She chokes on her drink.
“Relax love.” I try to break things down for her. “You are here because you want a husband which translates to getting laid, even if it means after the vows. I’m here to get a one night stand, or maybe more, but that’s it. No strings attached. Ms. Tramp over there wants her rent paid.”
“You benefit from breaking people up?”
“Not to burst your bubble love, but I’m here because people like you do not fulfill their end of the bargain.”
“. . . and why is it a woman’s problem?”
“It’s not. But the ratio of men to women makes it a woman’s problem.”
A male hand lands on my shoulder. It is too big and strong to be feminine. I turn, and he asks to buy me a drink. I accept.
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