It happens to be one of those nights when your wife has just prepared a hefty meal for you; some fried Chicken, dried beans, fried fish and vegetable leaves; but you can’t enjoy it ’cause you have a rumbling stomach and your intestines keep shooting awful gases through your aperture, your wife cannot withstand your pungent odor for it resonate like hydrogen sulphide gas except it’s not in a fume chamber. Like an euthanasiac, she stares at you with uneasiness with hands ready to wrap her mouth, but she can’t, for she doesn’t want to embarrass you, so she chokes on it, drowning on it like it’s her own vomit she’s drowning in, and the thick of it makes her want to scream out, “I need a divorce!!” Inwardly, you feel like reminding her that when she said yes I do, she accepted you with all your awfulness. To make it worse, tonight was the night you vowed to make love to her, endlessly like I you’ve never done before, for with your rumbling stomach, you can’t even pinch your ass, lest you risk having a loose ass, watering all over the bed sheet.
So it happens to be one of those nights, when you decide to sit on the doorstep, shooting mosquitoes with your fowl smell. Sailing away the night at midnight cause at that particular time your wife doesn’t want you inside. Mind you it’s a bedsitter crib, and your woman is a no nonsense type of a chick, she doesn’t want to hear any of it. You try sliding on bed, and she juts, pushing you to the edge, saying,
“Shika tissue nenda ukafanye shughuli zako… sitaki ujinga.. sikuoa nguruwe Mimi….!!”
You get up, picking the tissue up, having your way through the door, though vexed, you can’t say a thing for you do not know when the next shoot will be. And even then, you’ve gone to the washroom for fifteen minutes and nothing came out. You sat on the toilet tub, meditating, trying to force out your excretes till veins popped in your forehead.
It happens to be one of those nights, so you decide to pour yourself some whiskey, and light up some blunt. Put on some music and you let your mind dive through the music. After a while, a hour or two, she wakes you up from the door step….
“Baby it’s cold outside, please come on in…”
Without even blinking, you go inside, you check the time and it’s 2:,00 am. And decide to write a piece to share it out.
“Baby, you okay??” She asks when you’re in the middle of typing.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Nope love… Just tired.. let’s get some sleep..”,
As you switch off your phone.
You plant a kiss on her forehead as she folds herself to the corner of the bed, where you hold her like a kid holding her doll.
As Written by Phill Ibsen
(Master Of Description)