I was awake some nights ago and very pissed. The anger was not the fault of my insomnia; my malady could never get me that angry. This particular anger was of that painful quality that only a woman can cause. Getting pissed at a woman is so frustrating because there is little a man can do about it. There is nothing as lovable as a woman. There is also nothing in the world as annoying as a woman; nothing, not traffic, not hunger, not poverty, not preachers, not even righteousness.
Now, this particular sleepless night, I was occupying my time through PS3, I wasn’t bored or lonely or anything. I was actually having fun, until my girl friend called (the main one), and everything changed. That lady has the wonderful ability of changing my mood whenever she occurs. She has never, for once, left me the way she met me. Perhaps, that is why she is highest in my hierarchy of female beings. I used the ear piece to receive the call so I could still play my game while talking to her. We talked, we laughed, and I maintained my affair with the PS3.
Then she asked me a question.
Now, you remember those long ago days in Bethlehem of Judea when Jesus was hosting his talk shows and generally being a nuisance to the Pharisees and Sadducees, you remember that particular episode when the master was in the midst of the show crowd and a woman had touched him? You recall how silly it felt when Jesus asked the crowd who touched him? Don’t blame Jesus, I don’t blame him. I understand now. I know now how it feels to have virtue or breathe taken out of you.
People had been touching Christ all through that show, but a particular touch took virtue out of him. My lady had been firing questions at me, but a particular question changed the natural direction of my blood flow. It was unexpected and unanticipated, I had not prepared a befitting lie or excuse. At this kind of threshold, it would have been wise for the network providers to do their thing and cause the phone line to break up or give some static and wind and make rain. But I have never benefited from these phone service providers, have you?
So, I stammered and strained and coughed, the young lady on the other end just waited calmly for me to finish my strangling and swallowing, and then she asked the question again.
“Did you buy Clara a birthday gift?”
A man cannot be expected to lie with such short notice, no matter how skilled he is in the art of telling untruths. And this woman would catch me at any fabrication. She knows me too well, which puts me in a terrible unfortunate state.
I still believe that Clara is not worth all the trouble she caused me. I judge that you will agree if I give you more particulars of the matter.
You see, Clara is My Lady’s best friend. My Lady has this believe that if I truly love her I would love everything she holds dear, no matter how silly, and at the same time I would detest everything she hates. Adding all her affections and disaffections to mine would make a formidable list of likes and dislikes, but you would think she would care. It is a difficult situation to get enmeshed in, I must tell you, especially when you consider the strange things a woman can get her emotions tangled up with.
I will never come around to having affection for ice cream, or chocolate, or Pringles. I would die if I ever sit down to watch Kendra or Kardashians. Why would a man develop feelings for these things? What kind of man loves ice cream or the colour pink or corn flakes? Amongst all these, I am especially supposed to love her brother, and her best friend as a proof that I am The One.
Now, truth be known, I won’t mind loving her female friends, especially if they are physically encouraging; no, I won’t mind at all, but I definitely would not love her brother, the guy laughs too loud and too often, plus he is too pretty. Ok, Seeing that we are being truthful and candid and forthcoming; concerning My Lady’s friends, I would have to admit that I have been there and done it with one, and then been there and almost done it with…I think, two others. But that was then, in the past, like…a month ago. Now, I sin no more.
Anyway, back to the question that re-routed my blood stream, there was no way of going around the issue. I had to answer the question. Believe me, I had no other choice. So, that night, I told My Lady that I didn’t buy Clara any birthday gift. I delivered that piece of information with a strong voice and manly intonation, but my palms were all slippery on the game control pad. There was a pause; I could hear her breathing even over the game sounds. Then she called my name. It was exactly the same way my mum called me that very long ago day when she had found three dead and rotting rats in my school bag. (The rats were for a charm that would ensure victory in all fights). That discovery had led to a terrible experience for me; my mother flogged me like she didn’t know me. So don’t blame me when I almost shuddered at the similarity between that long ago name call and that of the night. I didn’t know My Lady’s voice had baritone quality and that my name could still sound so menacing.
She made it again, that fearful sound with my name entangled deeply in it. I didn’t answer, I didn’t know how to. She paused again and gathered her strength. It was the calm before the storm. When the storm began it didn’t relent for close to an hour. She said things, plenty things. I heard some and didn’t hear others, thanks to PS3. But some ladies don’t care if you are listening or not. Then I was killed on PS3, and I got mad at the console and the anger forced me to actually hear all she was saying. It was terrible, the things she was saying, nothing romantic about it. They were not words I wanted to hear especially after having been killed in the Call of Duty. I got mad, madder than usual, and I told the lady my mind, the very bottom part. I doubt if she had ever been familiar with that part of my mind. Just when I had given her an earful and she was about to unleash her own volley, I cut the call on her and switched off.
I was a little miffed that someone, a mere female, could force me to turn my phone off, but there was nothing for it, I was really angry. Can you just believe the woman? I am not only supposed to buy her gifts, I would also buy for her best friend? I have given Clara birthday gifts before, all unwillingly. The first time it happened, My Lady had made me promise. The circumstance surrounding that promise was the kind a man would never resist; sex was in the house that day. The second time, Clara had only gotten lucky, and that was even because I didn’t spend a dime on the teddy, I had taken it from a friend. All that time is past. Sex was not in the area on the night of my anger and it wasn’t in the vicinity on the birth date either. I had my wits all intact. I would not be deceived.
But, really, I had done my part. At least I called Clara, with my own phone, even though she isn’t fine or have any hips what a damn, still I called her to wish her a happy birthday. But, apparently, that wasn’t enough. I must buy a gift, nothing less than 10k too. How fair was that? Have I bought my mum a birthday gift before? Not once. I don’t even know my mum’s date of birth. That sounds bad, but it is no sin mind you, I am just not good with numbers, at least, I know it’s around June or July.
But, anyway, I am not saying I can’t buy a woman a gift, I can, if we are friends, or if I have slept with her, or plan to. But your GF’s best friend is a no go area, especially when she isn’t that physically encouraging. Buying Clara a gift would be like waste. Waste is not good.
Cutting the call on My Lady didn’t do anything to assuage my anger. It wasn’t enough.
When a man is really angry, cutting a call doesn’t do anything to help. I actually wished she was in the house with me so that I could do something much more satisfactory and appeasing to my anger.
That wish got my almighty mind interested in the affairs of the night. My mind had been indifferent and uninterested since, but now, it stirred itself up and began to warm itself. As usual it began to explore concepts on its own orders. My mind first asked me what exactly I would have done if the argument with my lady had been face to face. I thought I would have a ready answer, but surprisingly, I didn’t know what exactly I would have done. I would have certainly tried to shut her up one way or the order. My mind began to suggest different means that I would have used to calm my anger. First option that came up was the simplest one of pushing the woman out of my face and preferably out of sight. This would be termed as being physically violent on a woman. It sounds bad when you put it that way. But pushing a woman isn’t too bad. There is assault, and then there is battery, pushing has nothing to do with a battery, except if it’s a car that won’t start.
But would I really hit a woman, my mind asks me. Well, let’s narrow it down, would I hit my wife?
If I am a pretender like the new age young men, I would pretend to think doubtfully about the matter. I would pretend to make it look like a difficult question to answer, or worst of all. I might say, no, never, I would never hit a woman.
As a kid I fought everything. I fought dogs, boys, cats, my parents, teachers and plenty girls. Fights with girls were usually easier, except one certain time that a housemaid nearly killed me. Now, my sisters are very annoying. I have fought them a lot of times. Does that mean I would be a wife beater, or slapper or hitter or pusher? I don’t know. But if I marry anyone as annoying as my sisters, then we might have a small problem. If I could hit my sisters, my flesh and blood, what would happen to a total stranger I probably met months back and made an honest woman out of?
We began to evaluate this wife beating and women violence thing, my mind and I. There is violence and then there is violence. What exactly qualifies as wife beating? Some men flog their wives and even have special koboko hanging beside the door. That is bad and terrible and criminal. I don’t mean the sexual kind of flogging and all the kinky things that some couples engage in.
I would definitely never flog my wife or fight her…. in anger. I know that one for sure. Would I push her in anger? Would I give her a slap, gently?
I am not saying I would, but I think I can, especially if I end up with these kind of women that never know when to hush up. I know I cannot beat my wife. It is heart wrenching to think of a man beating up a weaker woman. Same way it feels to watch a boxing match where a heavy weight is walloping some unfortunate lightweight, or when you consider the hostility between God and Egypt, where God almost plagued Egypt to death. An unequal fight is very heart breaking and pitiful.
Now, I would have no qualms with a couple fighting and the woman is giving her own back. If a woman can hold her own in a boxing match with her hubby, then, no wahala. Some women are quiet strong and can never be beaten by any foolish husband. If the two are well matched or if the woman is stronger and bigger, then by all means let the room be cleared of all breakables and children. Violence is a cleansing force.
I also know I won’t destroy my own property in anger. Only white people do that crap. Instead of tackling the offender, they go smashing their own flat screens and windshields, and punching walls. Very silly, I must tell u. It is not fair on the hapless things. The TV is not the offender, upturning the table won’t shut an offending mouth. Now, if the TV was hers, it might work. But women never buy anything that is worth smashing. Smashing the properties you bought is waste. Waste is not good.
My mind reminds me that a lot of people would prefer to leave the area than get into a confrontation. That means when my wife annoys me, I will leave the house, my house, for her. Very absurd. Why should I be the one to leave? Let’s take the case that brought up these thoughts, if My Lady had been in the house with me, and I was playing Call of Duty in a critical campaign and she comes up with the annoying question of Clara’s birthday and we get into the natural argument, I should as a loving guy, get up and leave?
Ha!
I no go fit do that one.
Some white dude’s wife cheats or gets bored with her marriage and decides a divorce would be more interesting, what does the husband do? He ups and moves out of the house, his own house.
Mtcheew.
If anybody wants a divorce from me, even God would have to kill me to move me out of my house.
Some idiots even say it is wrong to raise your voice on a woman. You raise your voice on a woman means you don’t love her enough. Some times I agree with Boko haram. This western civilization is making weaklings out of everyone. Women want the house, the money, our manhood voice too? God forbid.
I have the unfortunate malaise of premature cessation of anger. People say it is a good thing when one doesn’t stay angry for very long. They don’t know what they are talking about. When I am not angry I can’t do the payback thingy or take some retaliative measures. I prefer to act immediately the anger stirs, because if I don’t, that would be the end of that.
My anger had disappeared with all these thoughts. Somehow I couldn’t understand what exactly had got me angry. I switched on my phone.
And dialled My Lady…
I had some begging to do.
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