Tired and weary women on the bus, avoid them. Flee my son’s like you would flee from the devil. I promised I’d talk about them right?
Matthew 11:28 “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” For a moment sounds like Jesus was talking to pregnant ladies don’t you agree? Besides the point, Jesus already promised to give rest to the heavy laden so you don’t want to compete with him. He wants us to be like him not to be him. Those ladies are looking for a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen. Let them take up their issue to their father up in heaven in prayer. You’re a drunk on the bus save the Dr Phil for the actual Dr Phil.
You see, there’s the chance that the conversation will go completely sour. You’re drunk and/or reek of alcohol and you probably remind her of her dead beat boyfie. The one who told her she’d amount to nothing, treated her bad and cheated every chance he got. She left him and is now independent, you should respect that because she’s been out all day trying to prove the world wrong and you’re the last thing she needs. It’s like selling contraceptives to a pregnant woman – pointless, unless you’re really good or she really likes you (which is pointless to you because she’s pregnant). Besides it’s a Friday and she’s going home sober, she doesn’t look like a teetotaler and you haven’t seen her phone ring once. Dammit you’re in a mat with WiFi your own phone is vibrating itself to death. The one time she takes out her phone is to check the time ignoring the fact she has a pretty brown leather strapped watch on her left hand. Maybe she’s trying to show off the galaxy something or wishing that someone somewhere would buzz her and ask her to a night out. It’s all none of your business, stare out of that window like you’re looking for Caro.
Maybe I fear them because they’re serious. I don’t know how I’d expect such a covnversation to turn out. How would you open?
“Hi, are you going for Lupita’s dinner?”
Then she’d give you a look that has ‘do I look like I care about elephants I have a horse on my head nigga’ written all over it and you’ll be silenced back into your seat bumping your head to god-knows-what nicki is saying about eating ass like cupcakes. Then your mind would drift to the idea of cupcakes, not the actual kind but nicki’s kind. You find admitting to yourself that while her butts fake maybe it tastes like actual cupcakes, you know science is crazy nowadays bruh. Then you hear her say not to worry about her if her butt’s fake and something about you being broke and you kind of agree the music is vulgar. Maybe this would be a point to bring up with miss serious face so you try. You turn to her only to notice she has earphones plugged in. Again, contraceptives to a pregnant lady. The bass in the mat is kicking harder than a footballer’s foetus in a ladies womb so you know she’s definitely avoiding you. You shrug your shoulders and keep looking for Caro.
At some point she will tap your shoulder. You will be ecstatic that she’s finally come around and realised you’re a handsome decent guy. I know the phrase is pretty decent but you shouldn’t describe a guy as pretty it’s belittling. Makes us feel like we’re wearing a little pink dress to the prom. You’ll turn around only to notice the conductor asking for your fare. You shrug again fish out a note and go back to looking for Caro. You will watch as lights fly past you on your way home and wish you’d have left the seat. But your drunk so you decide what the heck and give it another go. You do what might be the next greatest hype since the battle of 300 infused with some of that faint heart fair maiden bullshit. You don’t talk about Lupita, you don’t know where to start with that, I’ve never even watched that slave movie. The only thing you know about her is the phone. But you can’t ask about her phone or she’ll think you’re a thief. You’ll have an even harder time explaining to the mob that you only wanted to save your number in her phone and it was all a misunderstanding because you’re drunk. No one believes a drunk person because for starters they can’t stand straight and their eyes are the fiftieth shade of red. So you’ll get home and the only chance you’ll have to talk to her is when you’re almost alighting. You’ll tap her shoulder and say “nashukia hapa” she’ll then move her body sideways like she’s seated on a boda boda and let you pass. She’ll then take out her phone as if she now feels safer. Only she won’t find a message and she’ll just check the time.
That’s one version. The other version could see you happily married in five months. But it’s Friday I’m not going to talk about marriage. Maybe another day.