Remind me how this game is played. Twenty two men tussle it out on the green for a victory that shall belong to a million spectators or more. How about this for a celebration heard a continent away from the battle scene, “we won!” Really? How could i forget – congratulations!
Then again, procedures were followed. I left the note in the tightly cocked bottle, but my brother, I have not received a single response from the fair lady – Bathsheba. Blameless or not I have left the 22 men in England to tussle it on their green and I’m not waiting for no bottle since all the fair ladies left for town.
And does this sound familiar – “which is your number?” Brother, we last met in high school, on what grounds is a telephone conversation ever going to happen. So lets cut out the deceit, you will hardly call me this year or even in the ensuing decade. If you cared to notice, I actually did not save your number, pressed a few buttons and that is it. Better to be cold than deceitful.
Help me understand, the waiter only asked if the chips-chicken-chap order
was hers. I too can hear clearly from this far, but my playing-deaf sister insists she can not hear. So she draws closer to the waiter, lowering her head as her fresh-from-the-saloon hair falls gently on her shoulders like an avalanche.
Apparently this is supposed to cast the spell on me, but it doesn’t. Intent on going for a kill, she turns abruptly in such a way that I should at least notice her well endowed art and bite into her spell-bait. Sister, may I say, I intend on being faithful, and this being a Sunday, Monday is not exactly a perfect morning for me to wake up sobbing to my creator – “Father Almighty, forgive me your son for I have fallen…”, no, I would rather spare those tears for Haiti, and, the many Ugandans living desperate lives, should preoccupy my prayers and not some sorry repentance line.
Get a grip, brother.
Disappointed with her craft’s failure, she picks an imaginary call, sends an imaginary message, all the while stroking that immaculate hair. And can’t those feet keep in one place? To my delight and relief, Miss Temptation’s order is ready and she is off to find a less repentant brother. Good riddance. Woe unto him.
I used to think that after 3 of her kind I would be immune to their ways. Sadly I’m not, their tricks keep changing and fashion is always handy to improve their art. I hang on to precious faithfulness, pick up my phone and send a real text to my most dialed number, reassuring my Nth rib that I shall never falter. With our fairer sisters getting smarter, I need more than a friendship, I must utter my rock solid vows before the masses, and hopefully, that will raise a wall, high enough to keep predators away. Should they still jump over my wall, I promise you, I shall place no orders in no restaurant, and I shall run for dear life. In tow with my found rib, I shall journey to Alaska, build an
Igloo and see out the century. Sister, do not dare me.
By Rwakigumba Ronald <the writer needs to be dared . >