|Me... and them..|
As a rule I do not make friends with my friends’ boyfriends. Time and experience has taught me that once my friends break up with these unfortunate fellas I will be left with a back log of guys who I have no idea how to deal with. We obviously can’t be friends anymore... so now you’ll just be the awkward Facebook friend who I have no idea what to tell.
Though I do not make friends with my friends’ other halves, I make a point to be amicable. I smiled to hide my shock at the one who blatantly announced his love for Bongo music; I was civil to the one who had a definite ‘serial killer’ air around him; I even forgave that one who had never heard of Coldplay (How the hell???). The things we do for love...
However, once in a while I run into that special one... that boyfriend who seems to be on a mission to earn my ultimate dislike... that one who keeps poking at my porcelain poker face hoping it will crack... that one who won’t settle for my indifference, who feels he needs to earn my dislike as well. Of all the men in the world, my best-friend had to choose this one.
I admit that I am cynical, judgmental and hard to please... but my saving grace is that my instincts are almost always right... so I am almost always cynical and judgmental to people who deserve it. And he, let’s call him Mark, deserves it. I can forgive a multitude of wrongs, ranging from poor fashion sense, poor taste in music... even the ultimate sin: the inability to complete reading a book. I figure that people can’t help being who they are. However, I cannot forgive anyone who hurts the people I love. So I have prepared a special something for Mark.
We should probably skip the pleasantries, seeing as I cannot see any way for me to ever like you. Unfortunately, my best friend feels that you are special... and deserving of a second chance. Of course she does... she loves you. You can bask in the light of that revelation but you should also live knowing that you don’t deserve her. If I were you I’d spend every day trying to earn that which she is offering you.
In the meantime I will have you know that the next time she calls me crying and hurting, there will be hell to pay. Don’t snicker at me. I know I can’t do much damage to you but if I have to I can conjure up a mob of sorts... probably one or two rugby players, a frustrated boxer, and on a good day maybe a former Mungiki. And yes, this is a threat, though I feel my tone of voice would go so far as to make it assault. Really, I feel as if I have outdone myself.
This has been a great talk. We can now go back to sulking in our respective corners. You, to feel sorry and miserable. Me, to watch The Borgias in a bid to borrow a leaf from the original crime family on how to make a death look like an accident.
Clearly that conversation will never happen because unfortunately, contrary to popular opinion, not every Kikuyu has a menacing felon willing to do their dirty work. I mean, I know a few people from Githurai but that’s about it. All I can do is live up to the fable of the perfect friend who’s there to offer a shoulder and listen to sob stories. However, between me and you, I am collecting a portfolio of possible Mark replacements. You know, just in case. So far my criteria list is three items long: male, cute and alive... but I am working on it.