First, an explanation: I’ve been away from my own blog for almost a whole month. I must apologise. And explain. When I wrote the
Kenyan's Guide to Kenya, I never imagined that it would take on a life of its own. At first I looked on, bemused, as people (some known to me, most not) sent it along to me as a group-email “forward.” One good friend sent it along to me saying, “I wish I’d written this!” I was deeply flattered. However, I had no bloody idea how to respond. So I didn’t.
Then someone had the balls, the sheer impudence to send it as something
he had written. Damn! Flattery that you liked the posting was one thing; claiming it as your own and erasing my authorship is something different entirely. I mean, DAMN! It took me a while to regroup. I started this blog anonymously for various reasons, which means that I couldn’t just “break cover” to claim the post (ok, I could but first: who would believe me? Secondly, why do it? To disprove some unoriginal, plagiarising wannabe’s delusions?). I thought about it and decided it wasn’t worth it. But boy was I pissed. Then, as a
baksheesh, a backhanded ‘bonus,’ I got “blogger’s block.”
So I gathered my thoughts. I visited several blogs and, in a shameless and promiscuous manner, left brazen, uncensored comments in my wake. I was wanton and unashamed. But still “blocked.” Then, in my wanderings, I came across
Movie Buff's blog, and she had a hilarious
post about the kind of guy she was looking for… I love you, MB. You done helped this “heffer” get her groove back. And it’s funny you should bring it up because, dear Lord, does KC have some opinions about what’s out there!
So, KC’s ideal man. And the others.
The Ideal Man.
It’s really very simple: if you look like D’Angelo in his “How does it feel” video, go to the front of the queue. Heck, meet me at church. I’ll be the one in the frothy white dress.
Those Who Need Not Apply.
If you think that the height of fashion involves baggy jeans worn at thigh level, the better to reveal flowery boxer shorts slung over your sad little butt, here’s what you do:
1. Stand up.
2. Look straight ahead, chin slightly raised. Raise right hand. With great force, connect right hand to right cheek.
3. Stand up.
4. Repeat 2.
If you are looking for a
submissive, skirt-wearing woman who agrees with everything you say, deeply yearns to have “your children,” and who’ll spend hours on her knees praying for your continued masculine leadership and wisdom then
email me every Monday. That’s my designated
Fantasies of the Tragically Misled Day.
Leather jackets. I’m torn about these because on Shaft, Neo and Morpheus they are sexy as hell. But I’m Kenyan, and I’ve been wronged by leather before. If you think an otherwise blameless leather jacket goes perfectly with a Stetson, a Datsun 160J - complete with customised mud flaps with leaping tiger motif - and a Dolly Parton/Kenny Rogers mixed tape you must leave this blog immediately. That means you too, Esther Wahome.
In fact, let me interrupt myself here to expound further on
Leather Jacket Man.
People in leather jackets have been known to have
The Long Pinkie Nail. Movie Buff and I agree that these people should be flogged in a public square for traumatising an entire generation. For those who don’t know what we’re talking about, let me explain: a sub-species of early Nairobi man (
River Roadius Nairobicus and his cousin
Kirinyaga Roadius Kenyapithecus) randomly decided – as men often do – that a long, preferably curved nail on his little finger could serve a multitude of purposes. It was also environmentally friendly: why scrabble around looking for twigs to make impromptu toothpicks when you have The Long Pinkie Nail? Why try to force a piece of cotton wool onto said twig when you can jab The Long Pinkie Nail into your ear?
Unfortunately, his modern descendent has decided that The Long Pinkie Nail is also a stealth weapon of seduction. When he shakes the hand of a desirable woman (read: any chick who’ll talk to him) he looks soulfully into her eyes, then slyly unleashes what is now The Nail of Lurve, and gently scratches the inside of her soft, receptive palm. She is immediately ready to bear his children.
Leather jacket man will take you out for a romantic paraffin lamp-lit dinner of
nyama choma and vernacular music, where you will cosily share an uneven wooden bench while Rhoda the barmaid serves him warm, foamy beer. He doesn’t approve of you drinking beer, but you’re free to indulge in any of the many feminine and fruity alcoholic beverages out there.
Leather jacket man calls people like me ‘snobs’ because we like going to places where the toilets have toilet paper. Heck, we prefer going to places which have
toilets.
Enough with the rant. To recap: D'Angelo: GOOD. Leather jackets with Long Pinkie Nail: BAD. Baggy jeans: go directly to jail.
