by Sylvester Awenlimobor
There is nothing that gives me more comfort than a glass of beer. The key benefit lies in its ability to estrange me from the madness of modern earth.
Modern earth has become a place of absolute madness; almost everyone has a strain of schizophrenia running through them. Do I blame them? Absolutely not. I should include as much blame on myself for my continued existence if I do not seem to find a fit within this enclave I have found so much wrong in.
Last Tuesday I was seated at a bar, having a drink like every sane man in my books would, and alas she walked in. She represented everything that had gone wrong with the original concept of love. She was simply unlovable. Now do not get me wrong, many a male folks (and with the insanity that pervades the earth nowadays I boldly assert, women folks also) would have their antennas at a standstill. She had everything to make any imaginary sex scene come to life…but therein laid the death of love.
Is man capable of truly loving this bold assertive woman? Whose bosom calleth other males (and yet again I must add other females) truly? How is one expected to trust those breasts to remain chaste when the eyes are far away? I looked at my golden glass of beer. I took a sip but my eyes did not stray far.
I mean, every male in this bar was staring at her and she knew it, she loved the attention she was getting and was enthralled by the sexual mien she had converted my alcoholic centre into. After the whole charade she waltzed right out the door she came through while making a phoney phone call. I returned back to my loving beverage but could not get out of my head the picture of the previous five minutes.
After pondering for a few minutes I came to the rather uncultured decision that beautifully shaped women are the destroyers of true love.
I have my reasons, maybe heavily debatable but in my space, it would be absurd to debate with myself. Most men are unmoved by women who are shaped like rulers or whose coke-bottled appearance have become mutilated with tummies that overlaps with their waistline. In fact they appear to be accorded reverence and not queer side eyes. The husbands are at peace in their homes, aside the occasional ‘tasting’ of other soup outside to keep the taste-bud active, the romance inside the home is almost perfect.
But with a woman whose body shape would rival any stinging goddess one can never truly love. I mean, all that would ooze through my head would be sex, and when she is not around it would be sex still running through the head… Like “she’s been gone for 20 minutes longer, where the hell is she?”…. Or “why was that guy oogling at your behind and you did not slap him?”
There can not exist love… There can only be relatives of love namely; infatuation, sex, romance, more sex, lust, and finally more sex. How can one truly love with insecurity?
I let my mind take a breather, my glass was empty and the bottle at its dying stage. Time was already far gone. My phone rang… The wife called, she had set my alarm. I had no time for an extra bottle of beer. I sighed. Who ever said it was a man’s world lied to all of us. Before I stood up I remembered all that had gone through my head…. My wife is beautiful and I love her… So I wasted my thought process…
I imagine how many men think this way…. They better go and get ogres for wives sha… Outside at the car park I stayed a bit longer wondering if the sexy girl was still lurking somewhere… My alarm rang again… Reluctantly I went home.
The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author.
This article was published on the Nigerian Telegraph
