There’s a different vibe in the air on Friday that seems blessed by the gods. As I stroll through the cabro road that leads to my crib, everything seems cleaner, everyone’s smiling. I must have won the lottery and didn’t receive the memo. It’s rare that all these people are simultaneously friendly towards me. Even the guard greeted me with honors of mheshimiwa whilst gracefully opening the gate. Moreover, I could sense he was about to pull up the red carpet, and for a split second, I hesitated to step out lest I missed my presidential moment.
My mama mboga casually referred to me as her son which was surprising since I hardly usually spend more than 5o shillings. There’s a cuddly feeling that overcomes a man when they are referred to as someone’s son. It comes with a sense of warmth that assures you that everything will be okay. I wonder if she would have been as gentle had I not paid her. Would I have ridden my luck too much? Maybe she’s been eyeing me. With the current taxes and harsh conditions, being single is morbid — plus age doesn’t matter, right? We left being picky in 2020. Either that or the dry spell is as real as Covid.
Friday brings with it a bag of mixed emotions each enriched with a dose of a happy hour. It’s the kind of day I could shoot my shot towards this girl I’m crushing on and get lucky. It’s usually a day of mischief — the good kind. On Friday, I’m usually tired of my house. The cream colors painted all around that blend with pink wooden doors and brown dotted tiles on the floor don’t usually flow with my vibe. Often they feel too repetitive like the 1000th episode of the bold and the beautiful, especially with people who’ve become adept at remote working. You start detesting your home piece by piece.
The couch feels too old to sit on. Your butt might break it. The puffy zones that were once comfortable areas are as non-existent as rain in the Chalbi desert. And don’t get me started on the bed. It’s a warzone between your insomnia and finding a comfy place to rest your body. Maybe my mama mboga has some coffers we could use at Dr. Mattress as we take our relationship to the next level – you know, turn that son to dzaddy. Excuse my thoughts.
I’m feeling freaky and frisky so who has a weekend plan I could crush? We could hit the club, you and I, party till curfew hours, you pay the bill and I escort you home.
