Time check; 4pm.
Another message from Danson.
‘Seriously Bee. We should meet up and you know, catch up’
I smile to myself. I always like it when someone calls me that. It feels like they know me. It feels like those pet names your cùcù gives you but then she is the only who calls you that. So when someone else does its like they know you.
I want to go. I really do. Mainly because I want to find out if he’s still as attractive as he was in class four. If his legs still look as long as they did in school shorts. If he still talks moving his lips to the side. And of course other reasons because high school never ends (see what I did there. Hehe)
So I text him back like yeah we totally should. We schedule the time and place.
He wants to meet up today. But my hair is a mess. Though I agree anyway.
I freshen up and pick out an LBD. A very sexy one if I do say so myself. Because I want to prove a point. If, for instance, he still remembers me as the weakling in class four who was picked on by every bully, I will prove am a strong independent woman. And maybe make him regret why he never asked me out when I was let him copy my homework and exams. I will prove that now is too late as he can see. He will be flummoxed and I will be extremely pleased with myself.
So I just said to him I am passing by the salon and it was going to take about half an hour. (Btw, if any woman ever said to you that she is just taking about half an hour at the salon, she is lying. It’s physically impossible. Not even just saying hi at the salon takes half an hour. Trust me ). I assumed he is going to busy himself with something else because you know, isn’t it public information that half an hour in the salon directly translates to 3 hours?
I mean, everything knows that, right? Everyone except him.
After about an hour or so after our conversation, he is already there. So he calls me. Am still at the salon. Agnes, my hair stylist ( why do we always personalise people like they attend to us solely), is still fixing extensions to my hair. I am surprised at how early he is. What happened to fashionably late?
I tell him to give me at least an hour more (again another lie. Guys, why do you always fall for this?). My hair is washed and rinsed and conditioned and rinsed again. Agnes sets the drier timer as I stare at my phone wondering what to say to him to keep him busy.
“So how is the traffic”
” Very smooth actually”
“Did you see the bikers on Thika Rd who insist on wearing such tight biking attire that their stomachs bulge out you can literally see their caps wobbling”
“😅😅 Don’t go there. What makes you think I didn’t bike here”
“Because I don’t think you are the kind of person to just wear a helmet as the only safety gear”
” They wear knee protectors and arm braces too”
” Not the ones on Thika Rd really. In fact the biker suit is so thin and tight . Am surprised their balls don’t get squashed in there.”
” Because they have some tough balls😅”
” Well, it must be the case for them to be even able to bike on Thika Rd. Am ready now. Will be there in a few”
As Agnes pulls me out the drier, I cant help but think how amazing my hair will be after it’s combed. She does the final touches and i reapply my lipstick for clarity.
I arrive in twenty minutes at our rendezvous. I sit down on the bar stool next to his. He is gobbling down his drink.
“You wanna go slow on that”, I whisper in his ear as I take the stool next to his.
“Whoa”, he says as he brushes his hand down his tousled hair. Good looking old fellow. He is casual in a way he lets you know he didn’t try too hard but he looks good anyway.
I blush at the thought and turn to look at the waiter as I order my drink. He stands up to give me a peck on my cheek. He compliments my looks and rants about how much time I have taken. I start to argue that all this (hair and look) didn’t just happen. He reluctantly acquiesced (always wanted to use this word😉). We go over the formalities as the drinks start to kick in.
” But seriously though, what do you do nowadays?”
I like it when someone new(or in this case, reintroduced) asks me this. Because I can be anything. I can be a medical practitioner, a teacher, a morgue attendant. Hell I can even be an escort or Bob Collymore’s assistant. The choices are endless.
I swing about my drink as I ponder on his question. The ice cubes hit the edges of the glass. It is a pleasant pass time.
TO BE CONTINUED…
PS: I wanna take this time out and thank you guys so much for always coming down here. For bugging to write something when I go under. For always looking forward to the something new. For your complains and compliments. For your words of encouragement and criticism because you want to see us grow. For believing in me even when I don’t. You guys are the real MVP’S. And you know what you should all add in your CV.’S? ” I am a good motivator and enjoy empowering others to achieve goals” Because that is what you are.
Again, thankyou 😊👊
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