♂Smit Smitta Smitten♀

Sunday, April 8, 2012

♂Smit Smitta Smitten♀

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Published 1st January 2011

It’s not often that you get to meet the right person – or at the very least a breathtaking individual – at the most unexpected of moments, but just within the bounds of ordinary circumstance. And if you concur that it’s uncommon for you too, then I have to claim the bragging rights on that one; I hardly ever do.

Naturally it’s not the first time I’ve felt at least utterly infatuated; it would however totally suck to be this smitten –like a kitten torn to bits with one hit– over just anyone. Thus I prefer to think that this time, with this particular situation, there’s less smit and more meaning to it all.

It was supposed to be an event for charity and no more really. That was all I went for. Sure I expected there’d be some interesting women; if not in personality or charisma, then as a minimum, for the little matter of the event being a bikini bash. This dynamic brought other qualities –and quantities; abundant I might add – quite literally to the foreground. A fairly testosterone-motivating factor if I’d needed one.

And while my hypothalamus indeed was inspired that night, the hormone that construed to charm my night was only partly funnelled by brain along with that more bowdlerized miniature appendage. For the most part, it was wrestled by an organ I have grown to treat with a confident abhorrence and adoration in equal measure, yet failed to rally the oomph required to panel beat it into submission – my heart.

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Somewhat unfortunately, you see, I’m your quintessential nice guy; a legitimately easy mark for affection. Sure I look intimidating and hostile, even proud at times, but in truth I pack less bite than I do snarl. That night, while I did have a distinctly uncut demeanour about me, there was no denying the fact that I was in favourable social circles. The fact that this kind of clique would hardly ever opt to mingle with louts probably improved my first impression to many. But the real crown jewel that night was an exceptional lass kicking her heels up in the pool, and this societal faction plunged me instantly towards her.

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Random is the only description I could find to describe her. Random in the sense that I was neither searching for her, nor seeking anything she embodies and reflects upon me at this particular point in time; if anything, I was trying to avoid it. Nothing screams wanton acquiescence than lying down to have body shots taken off you, but then again I do have my crazy phases, and hardly any male I know can resist a free feminine lick or two.

I hear the ladies go on and on about how they end up having to do a long stretch of walking on the very day they choose to wear high heels. Perhaps it is after all true; all I know is that figuratively, that was how it worked out for me.

Quite a bit about her, I have come to find, is actually random. Yet in a manner so delightfully indiscriminate, that from the very second I perceived her jovial warmth and truly infectious little giggle, I was –if nothing else– curious. I made a point, accordingly, of getting some form of contact with her at whatever cost. Let’s say I intentionally brushed up against her accidentally.

Something about her seemed so refreshingly familiar, kinda like going to a foreign country and catching a fleeting glimpse of a Nairobi Java, or a franchise bar from your past homely adventures – you don’t really know if the service will be anywhere near as good, but the thought that you know something about the place is indeed reassuring.

♦ But, I digress.

So anyway, when the chance presented itself that we acquaint ourselves, I was cautiously hasty to oblige. A quick glance at my rear-view mirror reveals my decision to take a dip at all of 11.30pm in the biting Nairobi weather as the best bargain I made in 2010. And while it was thence that I met her, I will admit that this choice was barely influenced by her. I had not seen her before this hour, and am not sure it would have mattered even so, withdrawn as I actually am in gatherings with so many alien faces. I would come to learn, long after I took the dive, that she’d actually arrived much later for the party.

‘Better late than never’, cues Hindsight. For that dive was probably as involuntarily brilliant as a fisherman pitching his hook into a regularly productive section of the deep seas, only to haul a lost treasure chest instead. Not a bad alternative if you ask me.

It does seem that December is truly a Cupidesque time of the year, and I have learnt that I clearly have a bull’s eye on me right around the same time. I would love to give a proper conclusion to such dull prose, plain words truly incomparable to what she conspires to arouse in me –nay, to thrill and titillate me so– every time I see her. Yet even I am curious as to how this story unfolds.

Nonetheless, this is not the occasion for that interest. This just happens to be the hour I whip out a bouquet of kales, sprinkle a topping of maize meal over it and call it a meal.

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