I happen to be in a very complicated relationship right now. And I dare say complicated because I can’t really tell whether the damsel involved and I are really dating or we just relish being mean to and angry at each other. I probably get the idea that am getting dumped (God forbid) right after this piece but…what the hell?! That’s what you get for giving a writer something to take home. Pun intended. Let me explain.
See relationships are supposed to be refreshing. Don’t ask me what that means, press F5 on your computer and see what happens to the screen. Everyone wants a partner they look forward to seeing and talking to even though you just saw him/her off the preceding minute. The ones you have sweet long conversations with deep into the night even when you have Calculus examinations that you haven’t studied for at 7 a.m. the following morning but just can’t let go. The ones who make you feel new and worthy of a little attention every time you’re with them. The ones that laugh and party with you even when you’re merely kissing the boss’ butt because they see the determination in your eye and know only too well that you won’t stop till you’re standing at the top of the food chain.
There’s no such thing as perfect boyfriend/girlfriend, plain truth. But nobody wants a girlfriend/boyfriend with whom you squabble every single time you engage in a tête-à-tête. Jumping at each other’s throats over practically nothing. Or over microscopic subjects such as WhatsApp/Facebook statuses and profile pictures. You need to understand something here ladies, boys will always be boys. Or men. You want to put our pictures on your profile with the caption “I love you boo”? Fine. Just don’t come barking when mine shows a seductive picture of a smoking hot half-naked Megan Good in a pool of liquor (Ciroć my nigga) with the caption, “Damn, that a**!” It’s just a status sweetheart, I have as much chance of even swatting Megan Good’s rear as Raila has of becoming President. Okay, maybe I over stretched it but you get the drift.
I don’t know what women want anymore. It’s like relationships are an autocracy and they reign supreme. You like her friends but your friends are either ‘too cocky’…’cry-babies’…’gangster’…’fugly’…or they just don’t like them. That’s the other plug you women pull inappropriately on us. Never disrespect your boy’s boys or make him choose between them and you. It’s a losing battle. Am not saying they come first, all I’m saying is they bail me out of jail when I get too wasted in the club and spit on the cops. You don’t. They loan me some cash when my a** broke. You don’t. Heck, I even spend that cash on you and that wretched weave floating above your inflatable head. So the next time he tells you he’s out drinking with his boys, you had better think hard before whining on and on about how much he loves his boys more than he does you.
Partners don’t stalk each other. Men like their privacy, do not go through my phone without my permission. Do not peruse my Facebook statuses and comment on all of my posts. Do not like my every status and comment on your newsfeed, and for crying out loud stop tagging me on all of your damn photos. What is it with you women? No man will tell you this to your face but baby, it’s a turn off. I love and treasure you but I don’t need you breathing down my neck squeezing the little air left out of me just to prove you love me too. No, sit yo’ a** down!!
(Anyway, the World Cup quarter finals are here. So the French lost to the German machines yesternight but they had a good run. You live to fight another day Karim. Meanwhile, my team, the under-rated Belgians, lock horns with Messi <my bad…I mean, Argentina> in a to-be cracker. I couldn’t give a rat’s hoot what the odds are, Origi is on fire. Can’t wait! Away from football, the week has been hectic y’all. Feels so nice to be Saturday, doesn’t it?! Legooo…)