Not the kind that types “Av” instead of “I’ve”, but the kind that typed full sentences in his text messages. He did not type “Am” but typed “I’m”.
I just love people who don’t strangle grammar to death. I love people who caress words and gently ease them out. I love people who respect punctuation marks. So Steve* had me at his fist “I’m”.
He was supposed to drive me to my friend’s wedding party in ushago so that is how he got my number. When he was late on the material day, he texted to say how sorry he was just five minutes into the wait. He already checked two boxes on my list.
Grammar-sensitive and time-conscious? I had hit the jackpot!
There was a third party in the car, but he was one of those never sober people so he spent the journey nursing a hangover and complaining loudly about how hungry he was. He did this three times in a row but he did not get to a fourth because I asked him:
“Boss, did anyone hold a gun to your head and force you to take alcohol?”
He looked at me blankly for a while then went back to sleep. We did not hear from him again until the end of the journey.
Back to Steve.
He had a sales job.
“What do you sell?” I asked, thanking my stars that I had met someone who was not going to “hustle” me for cash.
“Beauty products,” he responded.
Not so bad, I thought.
Until he mentioned the name of the company.
He sold the kind of stuff you buy along Dubois Street in Nairobi and not at Hilton Arcade.
I bit back my response.
The function went well. But I was too engrossed in his brown eyes and broad chest to notice much else. We teased each other and flirted with our eyes. My stomach fluttered a little when he smiled at me.
On the journey back home, we flirted some more and he said he wanted to marry me.
He left his wallet in my car and when I called, he said that it was intentional.
“I wanted you to call me. I wanted to keep in touch,” he said in this baritone that made me breathless. By this time, I had forgotten about him being a broke ass and only remembered how he made me feel.
We had fast and furious WhatsApp chats. He sent me music videos every morning and wanted to chat throughout the day. The virtual dating continued for a month before I asked him when we were meeting for a drink? A meal? A girl can only be sustained by good grammar for so long.
He told me he could only meet me if I bought him whiskey.
What? Agal. You heard me right.
Boy child wanted me, a woman who had run away from a man who wanted to be kept, to buy him whiskey.
He was not done with me yet.
He also asked me if I could get him a job and what about that whiskey I promised?
I don’t know about you but those were too many red flags. I can date a broke ass guy. I just can’t date a broke ass guy who wants whiskey when all he can afford is Napoleon. Or Blue Moon.
Single Mama is a thirty-something-year-old single mum who likes to laugh, learn, read and write. She's a hopeless romantic who hopes to write a story with a happy ending one day but for the time being, before Alejandro sweeps her off her feet and rides with her on a horse to his ranch and millions, she will share her dating misadventures and skewed opinions on life.