Look! I got flowers!

Men love things that help them exaggerate their egos. That might be the reason behind love for sport, politics, cars and well, having sex with several women. A man believes that if his team wins a match, his balls gets ISO certified that they have grown bigger than the man whose team lost even if all he did was to shout hoarse in a bar in Kenya while the match is played in England. Women do not seem to understand the whole football craze. The truth is that there are things either sexes do not understand of the other.

This is valentine season. There are many theories that have been put across to explain the origin of this valentine. The one that holds water is that, it is the day set aside by some single, desperate and sex deprived person, very many years ago, to hurt men who are engaged, happy and sexually active by hurting their wallets and to some extent their egos.

I have no beef with that guy because Valentines Day has not really gotten to hear the town whence my wallet hails from. But going by the talk around town, very many men seem to like other days slightly more than this day. Gone are the days when men used to rely on Valentine’s Day to have sex. Nowadays it is one of those days when men are probably likely to sleep alone courtesy of forgetting to end with ‘I love you’ in the note accompanying a humongous bouquet of flowers he took in person to her office during the day.

I can bend my conservative stance on the whole idea of love and romance to do several things but one. Don’t count on me to bring them flowers to where you work. That is very lame and uncomfortable for me. Anything romantic that makes uncomfortable while doing is gay on my part. I am not gay. I have never understood the joy accrued from public display of affection for women. Maybe it is the same way women do not get the football story. I thing you are as lame as the red sox and underwear you are wearing if you took flowers to your girlfriend’s office today. I think you are lamer if you cheered with endless ‘awwww’ as the girlfriend received the flowers. I think you are the lamest homo sapien if you are that man in the crowd that is ‘awww-ing’ in the flower giving ceremony. You should probably go back to your desk and reapply make up as you wait to go change your tampon.

My conservative being tells me that such things should be done in private, the way other intimate things are done. Otherwise I expect a guy to have sex in public; probably record it and distribute it among fellow employees. Sex, just like flowers is supposed to enhance the love bonds with each other. Some people argue that the act of showing up with flowers shows how much balls you have and how much love you have for the lady. I say bull shit. Most of those ‘balls’ (to me they are ovaries) hanging with that man have been brought about by guilt or many years of living with the lady. I expect men over 50 or those who slept with the girlfriend’s sister or mother (and now he wants to show he’s changed) to bring you flowers.

I hope you get to understand that this is an apology in advance for my future girlfriend for not giving her flowers in the full glare of the workmates. Love, I have other better ideas lined up. I will not disclose them here because some hungry hyenas will copy them before this day ends.

Boom box playlist:

Ready to start - Arcade fire

Forsaken lands.

      I cross my legs then uncross them. Shift on my seat. Raise my head to stare at the glass walls surrounding the office. A mooted laugh reaches my eardrums. Bitches. A number of Indians pass. Men and women. I look further through the glass walls to the opposite office. More Indians. She rises to sashay across to another desk. Nice ass. She aint Indian. My eyes travel back to the laptop infront of me. I minimize all the open windows-9 of them- I stare at NatBoo. Fuck. Flawless. I reach for a glass of water. I restore the windows. Back to work.

     It’s been ages since I posted. I stopped feeling bad about it. I require a great deal of tractor power to restore this shamba into normal condition. Pressures of work. They are as real as the Hague. I keep my hopes high that someday I shall rise above the writer’s block and post something worth a read.

Boom box playlist:

Chop suey! – System of a Down.