Like everyone else, I've been observing the tumult surrounding the Kenya elections with dismay. Thank God the tension is dissipating - or is dissimilated by the presence of the military.
This holiday season was spent working, traveling, drinking, texting, watching the election proceedings on BBC, lusting over some dime-pieces, and just lazing around. The one constant was that I managed to contract some fever - probably some flu - that was uncomfortably reminiscent of Malaria. [The Maragua kind. Vicious, trust me.] It got me right before Xmas day and slowly let go toward New Year's, but tell me why I managed to contract another, which is making its presence felt right now. Sucks. What a way to start the new year.
But screw the flu - I pray the turmoil in Kenya will subside.
It was in the middle of my earlier bout with the flu that I discovered that I'm a real baby when I'm ill. Thing is, I'm almost never ill; this is probably my first ailment in like 2 years, give or take a few headaches here, a few stomachaches there. I talked to my cuz about it, about how juvenile I get when I'm ill, and she was like: It's not just you; all men are babies when they're ill. I daresay she's right. Seeing how most of my friends are female, I've seen, first hand, some of the stuff they go through. Matter of fact, I suspect that if men stepped in women's shoes for a spell:
- Childbirth would be painless
- PMS wouldn't stand for Premenstrual Syndrome, [or Pantone Matching System, for that matter] but would be an acronym for some organization such as Prevent Men from Suffering. Oh, and it would have unlimited funding from the government.
- High-heeled shoes that scrunch toes together would be outlawed.
- An entire day at the salon would cost $15. A haircut would be $120.
- Football and basketball would come on TV at like 1 am. The Oprah Winfrey show would be akin to the president's address to the nation - everything would come to a screeching halt and every TV station would broadcast it.
- Granny-panties would replace thongs as the sexiest underwear. Shoot, The Thong Song would probably be renamed The Pantyline Song.
I see I'm going downhill with this, so I better quit while I'm ahead.
But yeah, that's how it was. My bad to everyone who tried to holla at me and I was M.I.A.; I'll hit you back, no doubt. Good luck this new year y'all.
Here's how the new year found me. Uh, don't mind the shirt.