No-shave November is upon us yet again. This time it’s different because I finally have something on my face to not shave. It is tiny and not very visible from afar, but up-close it is undeniable. It can be seen and felt, but most importantly, it can be shaved, or in this case, not shaved. Damn you genetics! Other things come with No-shave November. I shall not discuss these because I may or may not have failed at achieving them. That is my personal life, to which you nosy lot are not privy.
Several years into the future, my teenage son or daughter (or both) will curiously ask me how come no one in their generation was born in the month of August. To this, I will recline in my leather chestnut seat and gaze far beyond the horizon of my vast estate into the setting sun, take a deep breath and sigh softly, then quietly say, “You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” before returning to my gaze.
November is a rather peculiar month, or at least this one has been for me. I am slowly morphing into a completely different human being. My music playlist has majorly been composed of worship songs, hardcore hip-hop and trap, and a few pop hits. Well, this month, it’s a little different. There’s less hip-hop and less trap. These have been replaced by Nviiri, Bensoul and a bit of Ed Sheeran. Heck! There’s even Ella Mai. What in the Sigmund Freud is happening to me! At least Papa Jones still has a heavy presence. If he gets replaced, kindly check me into a mental facility. I prefer a room with a view.
Where there was once a glorious collection of lasses with magnificent (You know what rhymes with lasses) now lies a few pictures that look pixelated. They were taken from a severely inferior phone camera. How a perfectionist like I tolerates unclear pictures is beyond my comprehension. My meme folder is also gone, TOD unclear. I know have mushy quotes and cute videos. MUSHY QUOTES AND CUTE VIDEOS!
This character decadence has apparently seeped into my vocabulary as well. This month I’ve been making proclamations I haven’t made in a year. Somebody check my temperature. I think my water supply has been poisoned. It must be the aflatoxins. Serikali saidia!
It’s not all bad though. I can officially say things like “when I was in university”. I can also give wise counsel to uneducated minds, young and old alike. If nothing, sitting for hours in a heavy black robe over my three-piece suit in the scorching Machakos heat accords me a certain level of respect. Bow to your king.
Normally, the sound of my phone ringing is followed by a string of obscenities from my mouth. I hate phone calls. I repeat, I hate phone calls. Do not call me unless it’s completely necessary. In fact, before calling me ask yourself “Is what I want to say textable?” If yes, then text. Thank you. A phone conversation that exceeds ten minutes is a serious waste of time and valuable resources. If you really have that much to say to me, kindly write an essay and send it via email. This has been my philosophy. However, this month alone I have received more phone calls than the rest of the year combined. I have made even more. Suddenly, the sound of my phone ringing brings me joy (If you know you know) and I actually look forward to it. This is bedlam, I tell you.
In the recent past I painted what many referred to as a spectacular word picture, where I said one of the two things missing had a heartbeat and wore heels & lace. I have recently come across such a specimen, with a most convenient set of qualities. One of them is a complexion that is the best of both worlds. While I am in awe of noir, I am often tempted by the allure that blanc has. This specimen is red wine, with the kick that comes with white wine. That’s dangerous, and courting danger is my hobby.
While most people have a preference for either chestnuts or peach, I prefer harmony; symmetry. I am a man of specific tastes and when one individual sufficiently supplies to these, I have no option but to be hopelessly sprung. The cherry on top is a wonderful personality that seals the deal.
Heels rarely come into play but when they do, it’s nothing short of glorious. I’ve not gotten far enough to know about lace, but if it is not part of this picture, gentle coercion will yield the desired result. Shalom.