“All men are dogs!” ladies just can’t refrain from saying it. How would you feel if we called you the female version of the same? Anyway, without setting the stage for a fight, I will attempt to explain a day in a dog’s life. And while I’m at it, please remember that a dog is probably the most faithful canine. It is also obedient and has feelings too.
When I met you, I couldn’t help noticing how independent you were. You are a hot and sexy woman. The slight scar on your face is magnetic. I fell hard for you because you had walked straight out of my lust.You had all these hot friends (some of whom I even tried dating behind your back when you took too long to give in) and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around what made you seem so mysterious. You were exciting and free. That, drove me wild every time I saw you. So I quietly strategized on laying you. There I said it! As a man, I am wired to think that way first then come back to collect the heart later.
You played cool like a hot woman should. You made me follow you across the street begging for your number. Then a date. First kiss. I wanted more. It was interesting to watch you drink your wine on our dates. You made everything look like a commercial. On the eve of the day we had sex, you stood me up at the restaurant. No one had ever made me wait for ten minutes let alone two hours! I would have been having a drink with a random girl elsewhere!
Rule number one. NEVER keep a man waiting.
Next day you called; you were surprised I asked you to identify yourself. Truth is, I had deleted your number. We had sex that night. It occured to me much later that we didn’t do it in a candlelit room under the spell of burning incense; your style. We did it in in the mall, on the stairs, at midday when it (the mall) was full. The thrill was a one-off. I admit, that was messed up. After that, we did it like rabbits. In the car, kitchen, supermarket, swings… I was addicted.
From then on, I was always in a hurry to come see you. We were spontaneous. Remember counting backwards from one hundred and seventy seven while humping on the balcony? That was explosive! I wish I’d known the right time to jump off the train before the dead-end-ahead. I was being swallowed into an abyss of uncertainty and the unknown. I always want to be in control but then again what you don’t know won’t kill you… think again.
Inevitably, I started giving a damn about you, wondering if you were fine. Texting you. Eventually it hit me that I cared about you. I hated myself. But I liked it. These ‘feelings’ were not meant to last long as I later found out. Slowly all that ‘nonsense’ started fading out. I guess we grew tired of being fun and young. Or did we run out of ideas for interesting places to hang out or have sex? I’m using the word ‘we’ just to make you feel that it was ‘our’ fault. It wasn’t. It was your fault. Period.
Now, you don’t have your sly smile anymore. The other day I noticed you don’t have any six inch heels left in your shoe rack. Only slippers, ballet flats and a flimsy collection of low lows that don’t move my zipper. You are always bursting my phone asking where I am. It feels like I’m suddenly not old enough to cross the street alone. My boys won’t even ask me how you are anymore.
Every weekend there is a wedding we have to attend. Shocking thing is, we are not even married yet! We have not moved in together yet my curtains are your taste. You should know that the colors of my fittings are girly. Thanks to the controlling you. After turning me into a metrosexual, you are about to strike me with your magic wand and turn me into a wussy. Lately, you like it when a guy cries. what happened to you? You handpicked the tapestry and all the ‘grown man’ shirts I wear.
I’m a man (just in case you forgot). I like my beer. I miss my fights; beer with the boys. Weed, once in a while. Flirt here, wink there. A man wants space. To talk with his mouth full and to scratch his balls. Washing my hands before eating is still a mammoth task. Let me do me. Is that too much to ask? But then again, tolerance is key. With African governments rushing to create coalitions, we, the people have no option but to follow suit.
Last night you found me at the bar with another woman. Your best friend. You threw such a fit at the bar, that I was forced to lie to my fellow patrons that we broke up when I discovered you were on drugs. They all ordered a drink my way; toasting to my sad past with you and to a bright future with this hot woman in my company. Yes, men are dogs. A pack of hounds we are, that we won’t warn a brother if he is being played by his wife! This morning you came to my office and you wanted to find out what I saw in her that you didn’t have. First of all, your best friend reminds me of you when we first met. Sassy, spoilt and exciting. She is sexy and shameless. She makes me feel young. Unpredictable is her first name. What I’m trying to say is, a man lives for the hunt. No sport, no fun. Next time I ask you for a drink, make me work for it. Force me to beg you for your time. Re-invent yourself. can you do that?
As for your best friend, please call her up. She is pregnant, broke and doesn’t know what to do. Her boyfriend (who happens to be my best friend) ran after she confirmed that the pregnancy was his. Remember yesterday evening? We were waiting for you to get off from work. Six missed calls from me remember? Only a bad dog would date his best friend’s…. girl.
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