Paper Loving: Dating the Working Class Njuithez

I am in no way averse to the hardworking miss mboch [1], especially since I have a few fond memories of some past said missus from my younger days. And no, none of them include fondling, so you can wipe that knowing grin off your face...there's no for njaroz za mamboch [2] here!

Back to serious bizniz, however, this is one dance I will have to ask miss mboch to sit out. Picture Eminem slipping his thendecks [3] out and going 'may the real miss mboch, please sit down!' Because this class of worker, sadly, is not the working class I refer to, unless of course she's an au pair earning €1,000 that she does not need to spend, in which case she quite simply does not exist.

Ok. Let's come off the digressions for just a bit. If you start a debate over who pays the bills in a relationship, many guys today wanna go Dutch. Sure; few will say it, and a great many more will let their egos get in the way of pure economic sense. But fact is, huwes lipa [4] bill daily without at some point feeling not just a pinch on your wallet, but a rather sizable chunk of it torn off. What they would fail to understand in their reasoning, or lack thereof, is that chivalry and courtly love do not dictate that you mortgage your house to buy her a couple of raoz on Furahi Day [5]. If anything, the only difference between today's and the latter-day man would be that the current economic climate allows for little perceived or actual chivalry.

You see chivalry is dead, and women killed it. What...don't believe me? Try Kelly Clarkson's and Ne-Yo's Miss Independent on for size then, mix it up with a little of Beyonce's Irreplaceable, then colour code it with the P*$$¥ Cat Dolls' I don' need a man. Crystal? Enyewe if you still don' get then that's yours.

 

I actually applaud PCD inc.™ and their hit single for their efforts in salvaging what was left of the male hormones' common sense. You see thanx to them - and a few other uncited sources such as those monologues - a coupla women will actually gladly whip out their diva (read I-Gats-my-Own) wallets and foot the bill. Fair play to them, for they make relationships much easier to deal with. At least the ones I've had the pleasure of sampling do, coz I surely would hate having to deal with the kind that suddenly develops the pants after paying for a coupla raoz of vodoski [6].

Now of course you may bring out your macho placards and scream bloody murder to high heaven at my assertion that I like a woman that deals with her bill. That's yours. What you do with your women now can hardly compare to that time you had to beg yo boy to spot you like a kei [7] for that ka-lunch date; and don try going "ah, wasn' me". Well, unless you spring off a union of moneybagzes, in which case - sawa bauss. Uko yuu [8].

But more to the point, I know I enjoy dating the working class mamma - for the most part. However, the reality is that if you don't have any cash, you have no business dating any woman. Hold your horses as I explain. See you'll meet this woman. That's Step 1, the easy part, coz you probably din plan Step 1. It just happened, hence you din plan to spend on her. But for Step 2 you'll need a meeting point, and may decide to meet again. This, my good peeps, is the sh!t that never just happens.

It has to be planned. Lemme give you a synonym for plan jus to get my point across...budgeted for. You don' need me or the endangered son of Muigai to break that term down for you. Step 2 always means that any self-respecting male will carry enough cheddar and some to spare. After all, it's an election, and by God - or whichever deity you bow down to - you need to win it. Thus begins the campaign. You begin to feed her the Change She Can Believe In speech. Yet said speech needs a venue - a proper one at that; there is after all the macho factor to take into account. And so the cycle continues;  'No Unfinanced Romance' and all that jazz. At least I thought so till the gameplay was changed on me ever so abruptly, and much to my chagrin. Let's jus say I met this mamma quite a while back who killed that idea so sufficiently that it has hardly enjoyed any posthumous adventures since - nor misadventures for that matter.

The mamacita that'll pay the bills when things are thick yet give you little to no related or unrelated drama is rather rare , so you'll understand my initial skepticism at the thought of her doing it all, so to speak. I even recall having to walk a mile in the dead of night looking for a moneypoint this one night. We fika this joint in the West, and she's been more than sufficiently philanthropic all night long. Woe unto me when Lord Butler decides that chicas ain paying, but niccuhs have to donate a few coins. No way I was going to let her lipa coins for me entrance! So Monsieur Ego kicks me in the jugulars, and that's how I ended up going 'back out' for a smoke. By the time the smoke was over, I was back with enough coins to sponsor a rao at the very least. Thank God I live in Kenya, the land of MPesa [9].

So it's clear that being Mike Sonko on the day will go a long way in helping you carry it - the day, and her - the njuithez [10]. It's a formality, the spending bit of courting; so if you haven't yet, then it's a bout heiffering time you dealt with it. Depending on your campaign policy, campaign budget,  charismatic eloquence to tag her and her crowd along - not necessarily in that order of diminishing respect - and factoring in her general lack of good taste in actually liking what you spew forth, I'd say by Step 3 you might just be on the home run. Your home; another expense. So see what I mean?

In signing off, I'll quote my sage mate, a niccuh I once drank with - rather got seriously drunk with. "To a woman, dating a good guy is like driving a Toyota 110. Dating a bad boy, however, is like riding in a dark Range Rover Sport to the Vasha [for the weekend]". Now the 110 I'll agree with totally. But in lieu of a conversation I recently had on the subject with one luvly apple dampling, allow me to pimp the dark Sport kiasi. Dating a bad boy is like riding in the Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Grand Sport along the Col de Turini - Southern France, or a Ducati 848 EVO Sportbike in Central Queensland Minimoto. The only problem is, while the glamour thrills in surreal proportions, the speed factor kills in equal measure.

 Keep it real peeps!

Kenyan jargonsez for dummies :)
[1] Miss mboch - an Au pair, so to speak
[2] Njaroz za mamboch - basically refers to flirting and/or "exploring the Au Pair's sexuality"
[3] Thendecks - the rear end
[4] Huwes lipa - you can't pay
[5] Raoz on Furahi Day - Rounds [of beer] on Friday. Furahi is swahili for 'Happy', and sounds like 'Fri' in Friday, hence the usage of the term Furahi Day
[6] Vodoski  - Vodka

[7] A kei - 1 thousand Kenya Shillings

[8] Sawa bauss. Uko yuu - Ok. You got game
[9] Mpesa - A world-pioneering Kenyan Service for Mobile Banking.

[10] Njuithez - Slang for woman in some part of Kenya; or maybe just in my head. Comes from the word 'Juices' with a bit of 'mother tongue influence'