When I set my eyes on that intern, I immediately knew she would be my next conquest. She was tall, slender, and of light complexion, just like I liked them. It confused me even more that she looked liberal enough to show a generous amount of cleavage, accentuated by the short flowered dress that seemed to pour out of her light flawless thighs.
She embodied a street drug that has the potency to hook anyone who threw caution to the wind and decided to give it a shot.
For the first time since I started chasing interns I knew this was it; history had shown me that you hardly get them this young and liberal.
Her name was Serah, a young vixen born and raised in the land of matoke, but trying to build a life in Nairobi.
DINNER DATE
On a warm Friday evening in 2011, Serah and I had a dinner date that would culminate in her spending over at my place in Eastlands.
We met at a restaurant near Gill House, which was our stage. I chose that venue deliberately so that we would be in a matatu less than five minutes after exiting the restaurant, reducing the chances of her changing her mind midway.
I had heard of cases where women just came for a date to eat then go their way, so such loopholes had to be taken care of. Or so I thought. She showed up in her signature short dresses, exposed cleavage, and extremely high heels that gave her this demeanor of a high class woman. Maen! You should have seen me smiling sheepishly from ear to ear, happy that this time the witchdoctors from Vihiga where I hail had not managed to disrupt my plans.
BIG, BIG, BAG
For a petit girl, I could not fathom why she came to our date hauling a handbag big enough to pack two mature German Shepherds, but I chose to let it pass lest it messed the mood for the great night ahead. I was aware huge handbags on Friday evenings was coded language to mean the date had packed change of cloth, therefore ready to accompany you home, but I found this particular one a bit bigger than acceptable. Well, maybe she was carrying a wedding dress, or blow dryer . . . maybe she planned on nicking stuff from my place after I slept. Who knows? I made a mental note to myself to sleep with one eye open.
After the meal, we hopped into a matatu. My heart was beating so fast that I could hear it even with the loud music. When we got home, the first thing Serah asked for was the washroom, which did not sound odd because we had taken a few drinks to accompany the meal. I went to my bedroom, changed into night wear and lay down waiting for her to walk in. She did not. When she took longer than expected, I stepped out to confirm she was alright. You do not want to know the shock when I found Serah in the bathroom, my towel wrapped around her, and before her a whole set of basins with dirty clothes soaked in water.
HER OWN CLOTHES
No, do not celebrate that I had bagged a woman who washed my dirty laundry on our first date; it was her own clothes that she had carried to wash! Now the enormous handbag made sense. Turns out they had a water problem back in Ruai, so a sleepover guaranteed her a place to wash. Simply put, while I struggled to throw well-rehearsed lines at her over dinner that evening her mind was on us getting home for her to do laundry. I felt used.
I went back to bed and waited, hoping she would be done in not so long, but my patience ran out and I dozed off. When I woke up in the middle of the night, Serah was snoring beside me, still wrapped in my towel. When I went to inspect her laundry, four full lines hung bras, panties, hipsters, sweater tops, socks, scarves and tee shirts, all dripping wet. I was sure she had come over solely to wash because when got back to bed and tried touching her she furiously threw my hand away. Dejected, I turned the opposite direction, faced the wall and snored my disappointment away. A laundry date was a new phenomenon to me, one I had never heard of in all the years of living in Nairobi.
The bad, but expected, news was that by morning half that laundry was still moist, save for the light garments, so she stayed on until evening. We spent the day staring at each other pensively. Our relationship was never the same since that night. First because she had tricked me into a date that never was, secondly, I wondered how many houses she slept over in this city for the purpose of washing.
The things women do to men in this city.
