THE TALE OF A SAUCY GIRLFRIEND

Last Monday, I had just wound up my day’s work. I'm not your regular wonk. Uh-uh. I was just whiling time having a dry babble with fellows in the office. I had a certain reluctance to leave for home or anywhere.

Then a friend called. An old girlfriend. Tabitha. It was a surprise. And a delight.

I won’t delve into the details of our phone conversation, apart from the fact that it was full of cheer, and jokes of peeps who haven’t been in touch.

She wanted us to meet in town.

You see, it was a huge coincidence, because we had not heard from each other for, what, six months. Okay, that’s not the coincidence. I didn’t have any plan for the evening, with bae out of town for the weekend.

Even more pleasantly, being the end of the month, the HR department had earlier that day looked into our affairs.

So with an over-flowing bank account, an absentee girlfriend and a sudden plan, I consented. We would meet inside one hour. It’s really remarkable how manna fall to those starving, don't wanna agree?

But you must know one or two things about Tabby.

Tabby and I happened to attend the same university. That was three years ago. In a nutshell, we had hang out together several evenings, and visited each other on numerous occasions. The way college guys do, you know.

She was not my girlfriend per se, but we were even closer than a couple should get. I bet you get my gist? I fancy I have said before that I have a particular pull for women. Not exactly for the object of what must be going through your head. Hell, nuh. But for reasons around which I can’t wrap my head.

Tabby is, well, a stunning creature. The type that any knight worth his salt –I’m sure I’m worth my salt –would be willing to pay anything to go on a date with. She is of pleasant conduct. Mature, shall we say. All writers are. But to thrill her, gosh, you must be Eros himself.

So in short, refusing this treat was the last thing I wanted to do.

Suddenly engrossed, I ended my twaddle with friends and shot out to the garage. As I drove through the light traffic along Waiyaki Way towards the CBD, I was grinning from ear to ear, eager for the date.

Should I say everything was working for me on this night? I got to our rendezvous in a record 20 minutes, unusual for a Monday evening when everyone in this city seems suddenly to have the urge to rush somewhere.

I’ve discovered that I’m taking so long to unleash the juicy part of this chronicle. Sorry. Now I’ll address only what is relevant. Are we cool, cronies? Nice. That’s why I like you. Patience. Patience with me.

Are deets about where I picked up my date important, folks? Remember we agreed that I'd go straight to the matter itself, didn’t we? Fine. My date was waiting for me along 17^th Independence Street.

The instant I saw her, the va-va-voom factor in me died in its tracks.

Good people, how would you react when your date emerged dressed like she were in Disneyland? What would you do if she came sporting an incredible Cinderella-like horsetail hair? And matching red woolen shoes? What if she comes in an 1800s mackintosh coat? What if that coat were yellow?

Would you pretend that you don’t find it utterly absurd and mind your business? And perhaps perform Drake's Hotline Bling dance? Or would you drag her into the next boutique in the street and teach her to dress like a grown woman? Dude, would you run? Actually, I was seized by an overwhelming urge to do the latter.

Guys, you have no idea what wardrobe malfunction is. What stood before me was a classic example of this tomfoolery of the 21^st century.

I didn’t. But I must be honest with you. Getting out of the vehicle was tingly for me. Have you ever regretted agreeing to something, a date perhaps? I suppose you have. Now that is what I  felt.

Finally, I made up my mind and went for her. Maybe, just maybe, an evening of embarrassment would not kill my huge ego.

As though her manner of dressing was not off-putting enough, she staged another despicable show: literally screamed upon spotting me. She came running, shouting like a crazed person and jumped me, grinding the rush-hour street-activity into a momentary standstill.

I felt like poor old Donald Trump after telling a bad joke to an appalled audience. Or worse.

Roasting in humiliation, I scooped her from the street and drove away to a joint where we might not be subjected to awkward attention. I don’t recollect what passed between us in the car, if anything at all passed between us.

All too soon, we were at Prestige. How I had picked Ngong Road direction is beyond my ken. However, with so much egg on the face, I didn’t have a straight head with which to think things out.

So I  randomly picked an eatery and after parking the car, we proceeded inside. The place was a quiet one and decent from the outside. Besides, it was not as crowded as pubs in the the town centre usually are. As we walked inside though, I could feel on my skin some daggers of looks thrust in our direction. 

           The guards, understandably, asked us to produce our IDs. Tabby wanted to protest, but I held her down.

From the moment we walked through the entrance into the establishment, all the attention was on us. People seemed to wonder who this fabulous dresser was. And even more who her male companion was. Nothing troubled me than to think that they perhaps assumed I had lured a teen to this place . It was the kind of shit that puts you on knife-edge that I was dealing with.

Venice is the sort of inn where you queue to be served at the counter before carrying your food to your table. With more than a 100 patrons at any given time, they have a sharp deficiency of staff at only seven. I guess it is part of what they call cost-cutting initiative these days.

As we waited to be attended to, there was this plus-size couple that was gawking at us as though we were zombies in the wrong place. I mean, who was in the wrong place here? I don't get the humour whenever I have to line up for cholesterol with plump shots in a cafe. The duo was determined to cause us discomfort until Tabby held on to my arm when she could no longer withstand the edginess.

I took chips, mutton and a beer. Tabby settled for fish, rice and ice-cream. Never mind the sick combination. 

So we sat with our food and nerves, trying but failing to duck quizzical stares thrown at us with abandon from virtually everyone in the room. Clearly, this was a match I had not signed up for. If I could pull a Spider Man manouvre, I could have happily done so.

While the food was heavenly, the chatter was bland. My partner did most of the speaking, while I contented myself with listening. In fact, it wasn’t actual listening I was doing, because half the time I was ruing my decision of coming here, and the other half my mind was straying hundreds of miles away thinking about Terry.

After drinking and more banter, I left for the Gents to take a leak.

Upon return, Tabitha had slithered away. Had she decided to end this madness and left to collide headlong with darkness on her way home? Unlikely. 

            Anyway, wouldn’t it be a relief? I sat, waiting for her to return, and hoping she did not. 

            Moments later, a finger rested on my shoulder. Turning, I sprang from my chair, and spilled to the floor. Tabitha had  a mask on,  and looked like the devil himself. She had scared the hell out of me.

Amid laughter, she helped me up. It was then that I remembered today was the Halloween!

Hell, I cursed. How could I have forgotten!

           We sat whereupon she set everything straight: from her fairy-tale dressing to her jumpy manner tonight. I watched stupefied and interested. 

When the fog of the circus cleared from my head, Tabby cleverly indicated her intent: she wished to be taken home for the night, and the weekend.

What an incredible evening, I thought as I drove home with Tabitha resting in my lap.

                            Poor soul, I'm tryna reignite my writing edge which seems to have grown some rust.