Me and My Women
I am now convinced that I am going to die single.
Growing up, I had been tutored to have high demands when it came to women. I was encouraged not to ‘settle’. So, as early as JSS3, I had made up my list of requirements. Whoever would be my main squeeze had to have the following exact characteristics:
1. Pretty face. Females who were ogres in their former lives were advised to stay far. Very far.
2. Hot figure. Something of a mix between Eva Longoria and Beyonce.
3. Height. Pygmies not welcome.
4. Fair complexion. This particular idiosyncrasy was handed down from Dad: you should see my mother.
5. Ample bosom. I’m a big dude with man-boobs. We shouldn’t be competing!
But you see, dear readers, I met Jennifer during my first year of university. She had all but number 4. Her chocolate complexion was exquisite. I fell in lust instantly (she dumped me after I farted in bed). Anyway, I had then realized that I could date dark chicks. Awesome. Then I met Bimbo who kind of looked like a bimbo. However, she was missing numbers 3 and 4. Our relationship went down the drain after she caught me ogling at her mother. What? Don’t judge. The woman had all 5! But she also had her blasted husband’s stupid wedding ring. Aaaaargh…
It all went downhill from there. Eno, while of average height, was shaped like a pedestrian bridge: straight and narrow. Daphne made me rethink item 5. She put the ‘2’ in too much. The Jews could have hidden from Hitler’s Nazis in her cleavage!
I once dated a girl called Ugochi. Ugochi was not ugly. Rather, ugly WAS Ugochi. The day her ‘jazz’ wore off, I texted her to end our fling. Rubbish.
Recently, I finally let go of my precepts. I made but one new rule: conversation. I want a woman I can talk to. All my friends lauded the new and improved me. I had indeed matured, they all said.
And so I happened upon Ingrid. She was a colleague at work. And –you guessed it- she had all five. Plus, she was single. How ironic that I should meet the girl of my dreams AFTER I’d contrived to trash those prerequisites. I’d only seen her a few times when she came to our floor and… my oh my: she was stunning! First she was half caste, and then her figure was to die for. On top of that, she was at least 5feet 10inches.
I once snuck a peek while she was talking to Clinton (another colleague). I couldn’t make out what she was saying from where I stood but I figured she must be a pretty powerful orator because Clinton clearly had tears in his eyes. Amazing! What could make such a macho man cry? If my curiosity was piqued before, I was nearing obsession by now. It seemed my search was finally over. I couldn’t wait to meet Ingrid and have terrific conversations with this intelligent, hot girl.
My chance came soon enough. One day, I spotted her at an eatery my colleagues and I frequented during lunch breaks. I was about to order when our eyes clashed. I ignored the attendant and walked over to where she sat.
“Hi”, I started, “my name is Chris and I’ve been dying to meet you.” By the time she was done replying, I was weeping like Clinton. She said:
“Hello Chris. I’m Ingrid. Let me start by apologizing. I have a birth defect which accounts for my incurable, tear inducing halitosis…” I wiped my face without bothering to hear more and trudged back to the counter.
See why I wrote the first line?