The beauty of women with a grip on themselves
There is something thoroughly enchanting about smart women. The authentic smart. Because, clearly, Nairobi is choking not just in garbage but smarties too.
This week I met an old friend. We haven’t crossed paths in a while. I guess we both got bogged down with work.
Miss is an architect. I write boring stuff to pay my bills. A struggling scribe if you like. Art lights up her soul. My insipid jokes too charm her. Which is quite something.
Girl is a bobby-dazzler all right. She plays the sax. You will not find in all world a more refined creation than a woman who saxes jazz and yet doesn’t think it’s a marvel.
She is easy and eccentric. We make quite the electric pair. With the whole gamut of our individual oddities.
So, she proposed a date. At one of those eateries of glamour in town where they have proper tablecloths. If you have been in this space, you know how gratifying it is to be invited by her species. Who was I to decline her soft-touch brilliance?
It was on a Tuesday night. Both of us kept time.
Have you ever sat across a woman at a restaurant who didn’t whine about her chipping nails, runaway weight or hair? One who doesn’t exhaust your bones with tonnes of drama about her boisterous friends while ploughing steak paid for by your credit card?
So, miss sat there, listening as I blabbered on and on about life, literature and the vagaries of living off the pen, frowning, gawking at me and smiling with a mixture of allure and fright as I made a clean ass of myself.
Thankfully, around Kimberly, I never feel like anything is at stake. We have each other’s back.
At one point, food bullets flew, by accident, from her mouth to my shirt. She laughed. Not out of mischief, but because it was a thrill.
She shared tea about a dude who has been hard on her heels for months now. How she has tried to shake him off in vain. This quite struck me.
For the longest time we have been chums, she has never attracted the ill ilk of men. She knows how to cut them down to size. To put them in their right place. Besides, she has a certain spell that repels losers.
Missy has never asked me about my girlfriend. She doesn’t care who I’m bonking. Neither have I asked her any of those details. She also doesn’t seem like someone slaving a dry spell.
After the date, she jumped me for a parting peck. She didn’t ask for cab money. Never mind that she offers to tide me over whenever I can’t steady my financial ship.
She is a rare kind that will lend you dough and not hold you at ransom. Or prattle about it all over social media saying how some men are trash and can’t survive on their own.
How some women are able to have a grip on themselves is startling. Having a woman who engages you with such effortlessness and humps you and doesn’t feel entitled is a thing of mystery. Priceless.
Don’t even look for such women.