Dear WCW… (I’m getting tired)

Dear WCW

This should reach you… Because I can’t text these things. You blocked me after I sent you that long message, threatening to sell you out because I know what your real name is, and it’s not Monique’. I know you caused quite a buzz, getting 600 likes and 261 comments for changing your name from Monique to Monique’ but I couldn’t get carried away… Not when I know too much. Not when I know your name is longer than ‘Mesepotamia’. I’m sure if you had even adjusted the font to slightly italic and said that is how your name was to be written, the hordes that judge you from your accentuated behind would like and praise you for being so creative. But me, I’m turning 24 madam. I’ve been a bitter soul since I was 11, but the outside world didn’t respect how ancient I was on the inside. Now the date on my birth certificate supports my charming blend and misanthropy and pessimism. The world sucks, and I have almost 24 years of empirical evidence to prove it.

So WCW… reality met me at fantasy. Now, like all other normal men who have made the noble decision to finally focus on what’s important in life (like watching TV, or taking naps, or taking naps while watching TV and liking random pictures on Instagram), I have finally agreed that cute girls are not made of sugar, spice and everything nice. That narcissist who came up with powerpuff girls may have confused me enough for years, but what you did has finally settled that debate: I spent approximately Sh16547.92 two months ago, only to wake up on my phone’s screen, Idris Elba chiseled on your timeline as a crush. That’s cold woman, that’s cold… But we can handle this like adults. Remember I’m 23, turning 24 and I can let it out without giving too much thought.

First I’d like to tell you that man on 243 of your 369 instagram pictures, that muscular man, tall and calm with a sense of style, smells like feet. Every time I look at him, I stop being serious and I find myself laughing. I know this because I had failed an interview and I logged on to Instagram, looked at your page and saw him. I started laughing and the interview was no longer important. Have you ever looked at a baby playing with their feet? They hang it up in the air as if they’re looking for that ‘How to walk’ manual, and then they forget the leg is up there, pee in the process… Just a whole mess. That’s what I see every time I look at his face. Now I know you’re tempted to show this paragraph to him or tell him I’ve insulted him, but woman you and I go to the same church. Of course I followed you here when you said you were taking time with church first, but I took it too seriously. Now I lead the youth choir, and sit in parish meetings meaning there’s no turning back… But you cannot just choose to be Lucifer’s Dandruff and plant discord amongst church members. And those muscles are a sign of a man without a future. He has too much time on his hands, to go to the gym and look good for Instagram. People like me are juggling between two jobs, meetings, making more money and reading books and important stuff on the internet. When does he do all these? You need a fairytale ending but I can tell you this, you can start planning how you’ll pay fees for the 67 children he’ll pump in you. That’s the best he can do. And then he walks like he has leprosy… and you pretend you can’t see it. He has time to take you to all events from Wednesday to Sunday… What am I, a matatu? That is the sure tributary to failure… A classic ‘Win the medal, lose at life’ scenario.

WCW, when you eat, it sounds like GSU have landed. The pandemonium in your mouth is unbearable most times except when you go to a restaurant and you have to behave. I don’t know which other man in the corridors and streets of East and Central Africa will stand that, because people have been divorced for worse. In Kuwait for example a couple divorced because the husband prefers to use bread, rather than a fork, to eat peas. The husband noticed his fork-to-piece ration wasn’t helping his wait, and he decided to let it go. Now how you chew food can only be tolerated by me. Anyone else who texts you late night on whatsapp, send them a video of you eating and see how many will bluetick you. It’s really simple… We are meant to be. And we can save ourselves the trouble, because when you’ll be 35 posting things like ‘Independent women rule the world’ from your sad one bedroom in Highrise, I’ll be liking those posts and throwing comments like ‘Which world?’.

You have been cold for a while now. In 1999 when we were in class two, because we come a long way, I noticed where you had put me in kalongolongo. That game defined love and narcissism in you. Despite me being the only boy in the game 4 times, you still preferred to make me the cat. I had to make cat sounds for 3 hours, 4 times. That’s 12 hours of my life I can’t get back because I was trying to make you happy. Gladys had always wanted me to act as her brother and sleep on the same space (That’s the greatest sign of love) but I was confused. 17 years later, here I am, still chasing your attention. Gladys meanwhile got engaged last month to someone far less promising than I am. The guy works in a bank. Chances of him being a bank CEO are 1:5643. He isn’t good at math either, so they’ll probably end up living in their 2 bedroom house when he’s 47. Woman can you see my potential?

And it’s not the first time I’m doing things for you. You’re always colourful in your designs (which I know where you buy despite posting us picture of Mr. Price paperbags). So I bought a Polka dot shirt. I looked like a fat chihuahua. But I don’t catch feelings. I forgive and forget: Remembering things is hard. That brain space could be better used for sports. A real man can recall the starting lineup for the 1998 FA Cup final where Arsenal beat Newcastle, but not the name of the latest nailpolish. (Stop sending that man to buy you nail polish because everytime he walks to a cosmetic store he looks like a robber. His face doesn’t help much either).

I’ll write the second part after you change your whatsapp status to something targeting me like “Why are you following me and I don’t want you”. By the way on that, I liked the humour on last week’s status when you said “when you look like a walking cabbage, you belong to the market, not palace,”… That was some real stuff maze. But, even kings like vegetables. In fact there is a world cabbage day. Read your google.


Crush getting tired.





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