I woke up early on Saturday. As I lay in bed with my eyes closed, I could hear a bird chirping close to the bedroom window.
I smiled and opened my eyes as I reached for Jenny, who I knew would be fast asleep right next to me. Jenny was there alright, but she was not in bed – and she was not fast asleep.
She was standing right next to the bed with her arms crossed over her ever-expanding pregnant belly.
Her eyes were locked on me and the fire I could clearly see burning in them told me that she was either plotting murder or at least severe injury.
I thought of asking her what was wrong, but my years of experience with women were enough to tell me that I should probably keep my mouth shut lest I stick my foot in it. I couldn’t help but wonder though; how long had she been standing there watching me?
It wasn’t me
Seeing that I was now fully awake, she began her carefully planned attack.
“What’s this?” she shouted at me as she produced a pack of condoms and shook it in my face. “Explain this to me, or help me God, there is going to be hell in this house!”
My eyes went from the box to her eyes and back again. All my self-preservation instincts told me to deny, deny, DENY! But a quick analysis of the facts forced me to rethink that strategy.
She had obviously found the box in my jacket pocket. And it didn’t help my case in any way that two condoms were missing from the three-pack. I sighed, and began reciting the story that I had practiced for this exact scenario.
Two hours later, I was seated at a Nairobi coffee house picking through an overpriced breakfast and reading a newspaper.
The situation at home had forced me to make a quick exit. And I had a strange feeling that Jenny did not entirely believe the fabricated tale I had conjured up.
The story I gave Jenny went something like this: I dropped my friend home the previous evening. He was very drunk and somehow dropped the box of condoms on the passenger seat.
Not wanting to endure an embarrassing moment where someone would enter the car and stumble upon it, I had stuffed the box in my jacket pocket. My intention was to return it to my friend the next time I saw him.
The story seemed believable, until Jenny asked me who my friend was. I hesitated for a millisecond and my story lost all credibility. Then I threw in a name of someone she didn’t know (and to be honest, neither did I).
Before she could poke more holes in my story, I had showered, dressed and hurried out of the house. So there I was at the coffee house, reading some sob stories in the papers and watching my breakfast grow cold.
I was feeling numb to the world and couldn’t believe that my Saturday had gone from chirping birds to suspicious fiancées in the space of 10 seconds.
Restaurant romance
And it was at this exact moment that she walked by. She passed right next to my seat as she made her way to a booth in the far corner.
Her back was turned to me, so all I had to work with was the heavenly perfume that followed her like an unrelenting stalker.
I had to physically fight the urge to stare at her by putting up my newspaper as a wall between my eyes and her.
I hid behind the paper for a few seconds as I gave her time to take her seat. I must have looked very suspicious at this point, but I didn’t care.
I then slowly put the paper down, and there she was; a divine goddess of grace and beauty. Even the way she frowned at the ridiculously priced menu was enticing.
I had already decided to go over to her table and talk to her, but like any self-respecting man, I made sure that she was not expecting company. No rings on her fingers was a good indicator.
With my goals set, I slowly folded my newspaper and headed towards her booth. I already knew how this story would end, but the thrill of the chase drove me.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I love Jenny, and I will always take care of her. What I was about to do had nothing to do with her. And before you judge me, I’ll ask you to read my whole story first.
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