Over the weekend, Phil and I were doing our customary happy-hour drink up at a local kafunda when a lady walked in and disorganized sons of men. Ordinarily, a lady walking alone into a bar should not turn too many heads, it is 2013; women are emancipated and they look after themselves quite well. However, if the lady in question is dressed like she just fell out of a fashion magazine and she smells like she just walked out of a flower garden, heads are bound to turn. Phil and I quietly shot each other sneaky glances and silently agreed that the lady was a real gem.
As we attempted to decipher the whole situation and understand the purpose of this grand entrance, another lady walked in, almost in similar fashion. Lady number 2 (who for purposes of this Blog post we shall call Gloria) was a little taller than Lady Number 1 (who we will baptize Carol). Gloria gracefully glided the entire length of the bar with elegance so extreme we thought she was a runway nun, save for her otherwise revealing clothing. When the two girls sat, one could tell that half the men in the bar were silently weighing their options while the other half was weighing their wallets. A few moments later, a waiter headed in their direction and with a huge smile on his face seemed to approve of the new entrants. Phil, myself and everyone else in the bar kept stealing glances every now and again, to see what exactly these two ladies were all about.
About half an hour later, a waiter came over to our table and handed me a note, it was from the ladies. I am usually a calm and composed person who takes things in stride and has a grip especially in situations that call for anxiety. This time, I lost the plot, very badly. Before reading the note, I swore to Phil that whatever the contents of the note, we were in this together. I read the note and handed it to Phil who immediately headed to the bar counter to order a round of drinks. The girls were asking if we could join them on their table. Since Phil was the money bags, he went about the business of getting us drinks and since I was the chatty one, I went about with the business of chatting up the ladies.
A few drinks later, it emerged that Carol and Gloria were actually good company. Carol and I had a similar liking for the language in Game of Thrones while Gloria and Phil seemed to agree on sympathy for the teachers and their plight. While the four of us kept shifting in and out of topics, everyone else in the bar went about their business of getting drowned in the happy hour madness. Several drinks later, it became apparent that Carol and I would have to continue our discussion either at my place or hers. Phill on the other hand had to contend with his wife at home who would probably slit Gloria’s throat then slit Phil’s before slitting her own. However, after a long phone call to his wife, it was agreed that Phil had been called in to work urgently so could not make it back home. This therefore meant that Phil simply had to find where to take his belle for the night. Several drinks later, when it was time to leave, the real trouble began to emerge.
As it turned out, Carol had utter dislike for bodaboda rides and therefore could only be taken anywhere in a cab. Gloria on the other hand would not leave the bar unless she was assured that we would pass by Wandegeya for a chicken tonight plan. Since Phil was feeling somewhat generous and it had been a really long time since he had strayed in his marriage he found no problem passing by the ATM for a refill. Our cab parked a few meters away from the machine and we waited for Phil to return with the refill. Carol and I started to get silly in the back of the car so when Phil returned from the ATM trip, I barely noticed the blank and confused look on his face. Carol however did notice it and she immediately knew something was not right. She pushed me away in an instnat. As I tried to talk to Phil who was now in the passenger seat with his head in his arms, I realized that there had been a failed attempt at the ATM withdrawal. By the time I put all this together, the ladies had very stealthily made their way out of the car.
I got out of the car and tried to implore Carol that we were going to find a way out of this but she was not having any of my pleas. Gloria was pulling her sweet scented friend away; away from the goons who were now suddenly too broke to handle the company of the fine girls. At this point, my chatty self had no Plan B; Phil on the other hand was just speechless and motionless. Apparently the machine had ‘eaten’ his card and we were now at the mercy of the gods of the night. Between trying to plead with the ladies to stay and beg the cab driver not to take us to the nearby Police post, my work was cut out. Phil seemed to have totally zoned out, he was totally confused. Eventually I lost the battle for the ladies and tried to fight the battle to stay out of prison cells but the cab driver was not having any of it either. He assured us how he knew people of our kind and how we had dragged a few of our kind to the police cells. After about half an hour of pleading and begging, the cab driver offered to let us go on condition that I gave him assurance that we would pay the now fat debt during the day. I made a couple of promises before Phil and I dragged ourselves to my place to finally sleep over the near death experience.
It is not so often one encounters a near death experience and emerges unscathed but over the weekend, Phil and I did. After this experience, a few resolutions were arrived at and they included Phil never having to cheat on his wife, leaving the bar soon after happy hour, staying away from all ladies who smell like heaven and look like paradise, and never ever using a cab unless it was to pick Ruth Komuntale from her marriage. Gloria and Carol taught us a valuable lesson; even if she makes the first move, your wallet better be fat or else there will be no move moves.
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“While money can’t buy happiness, it certainly lets you choose your own form of misery.” ― Groucho Marx
The Talkative Rocker