CRUSH-VERSARY

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Here we are. It’s been a year now. Can you imagine? Time goes so fast, doesn’t it? Soon babies will be waltzing around my feet, needing me to add milk to their cereal (or cereal to their milk) and asking silly questions like “where do babies come from”? And you, where will you be, say twenty years from now? I bet you’ll be nursing a ravishing menopause, knitting away at some overpriced old home for blogs. You know I’ve always found you more mature and older. Like 20 years older. I mean, you’re always saying either deep or (somewhat) funny things but me? I’m as funny as a sewerage pipe in Ol-jororok.
I tried to develop some personality on Instagram but the web didn’t recognize.15 filters and nothing!…not even a DM from Pascal Tokodi.  Ah, but life is harsh. Me and that guy we have steamy hell’s kitchen chemistry, chemistry that would create a vigorous reaction on mpasho.co.ke(pun! Pun! Pun!) Of course that’s all in my head but a little (or a lot of) imagination never hurt anyone, right?

I already see myself walking down the aisle, my hair issues gone because I would have finally found my identity and settled on one style(Inner me: Ha! Did you mean shave bald?) I can see the front far left of the altar, Celine Dion caressing the piano and mellowing hearts with “My heart will go on” while John Legend cues. O, the majesty! Tokodi would be standing at the end of the aisle straight ahead, eyes glittering with so much love cupid would catch a fit. It is all clear to me now, I see him holding my moisturized hands and looking into my watery eyes. He’d start with a dramatic pause, like the real actor he is. He’d start “My love…”.He’d pause again. Too much emotion. Emotions emotions emotions(in Drake’s voice) .He’d look away to the crowd, as if looking for the right words to quantify his overwhelming feelings for me. He’d search with his eyes and not find any. Then he’d turn back and take it all in. Beauty and grandeur .All those bananas I’ve been eating would have (finally) translated to smooth silky yellow skin, like a runway in Dubai. He’d take his hand and place it on my cheek in a non-awkward way then he’d recite these words:es are red,violets are blue

Ilibidi niokoke ndio nipate jiko

Kabeat kakidrop tu

I’m in love with the shape of you

Raindrop,raindrop,raindrop

The girls in the congregation would “awww”.My exes would “ewww” and we would live happily ever after!

******************

Look here, I’ve not come to make semi apologies about my infertility in matters blowing this space with my creative genius. I’ve done that many times before (apolosing, not blowing up thi…uh, just forget it).Apart from updating you on my latest man-muse I came to do a technical drop-in just to confirm we’re still on. I think we’ve gotten to that point in courtship where no one seduces the other. We’re past the ‘pleasing’ stage and everyone can show their true colors now. This thing we got going is too mature for sentimental shenanigans, don’t you think? We’re stable. We know what we want from this relationship. The neighbours might think that we’re drifting apart just because we leave in separate cars in the morning but they don’t know about the hotel room we’ve booked in town.*wink*

So in that regard I’ll continue telling you about my muse.

You see I didn’t always have a thing for Pascal until Trevor Noah moved to the Daily Show. In my fourth language we say ”Sungura alipokosa zabibu alisema zi chungu”.That basically translates to Trevor is out of my league. Being a raging optimist I’ll disclose this to you upfront: there was a glimmer of hope when he was still in S.A. Maybe I’d have landed a scholarship at the University of Cape Town. His girlfriend would cheat on him so he’d hate all South African girls and since Kenya and Nigeria are kinda famous, he’d vow to date only Nigerian/Kenyan girls. Then one day he would accidentally watch a Naija movie and see a ghost pressing the doorbell to be opened for ,shouting “Nkechi are you in?” and that would ruin Naija’s reputation forever. Trevor is eye-candy but smart you know. So as fate would have it, talk of crazy coincidence, one day he’d come to perform at the University of Cape Town. I would go to the show and sit at the back because all the groupies will have filled the front seats. In the middle of the show something would nudge him in his spirit to ask if there’s any Kenyan girl in the crowd .I’d hesitate. It can’t be this easy. Two minutes would elapse before I shoot up in inebriation. Trevor would start walking in my direction, eyes fixated on me and for those few seconds the earth would stop in its orbit. There and then, orchestra in the background, fireworks in the air, hearts flipping in our chests….soul mates!

But Trevor moved to NYC. He even bought a $10 million pent-house in Midtown Manhattan. Bygones. Now I’m stuck with Pascal until some learned half-caste rich-parents kid from USIU sweeps him off his feet after which I will resolve to a life of dedication to blues (not Chelsea) and the environment. Say no to polythene bags!

I was supposed to recap my journey with you this first year but vanity caught up with me. Happy 1st Anniversary dear blog .Cheers!

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