Ladies, beware of Mr 30-something

When he walked into the Club, Njeri was the first one to spot him. The rule applies – she saw him first so she gets the first crack. She caught him at the bar just as he was making his way over to buy a round.

She bumped into him lightly and waited for the usual obligatory apology. It is the cheapest trick in the book, but she always executes it with absolutely sincere disregard for social cues. You’d have to be retarded not to notice that she’d noticed you. Mr Thirty Something is retarded to the point of genius. He looked over his shoulder at Njeri and gave her the once over followed by a sly smile: good, but not good enough. Before she could say ‘nice dreads’, he was crossing the small pub in long strides like he couldn’t run away from her fast enough.


Mr Thirty Something stands out amongst his company. Cocky and self assured: women are drawn to him like moths to a flame. Njeri missed the boat completely. He deflated her so quick she swiftly bought tequila from the bar to quench the rage of a blatant invitation turned down with such aplomb.

Mr Thirty Something has got game, but he plays by a totally different set of rules. The little twenty something’s he’s been chasing after are cagey quarry. He knows how to parry an invitation smoothly and turn the tables. Before she could finish sucking the lime, Mr Thirty Something had whipped out his wallet, paid for her drink and ordered a shot of tequila for him. Who figured he’d double back after dropping the round of drinks at his table? He caught Njeri flat footed, she giggled and smiled sheepishly. Hunter just became hunted.

He smoothly asked where she was sitting after announcing his name with the controlled diction of an expensive education in something she couldn’t pronounce. Njeri barely managed to contain her confusion and pointed over her shoulder at the two of us. He caught the stupid mesmerized look on my face and Lillian’s as well. I couldn’t tell if that look was meant for me but my stomach got tied into a knot when he flashed a smile.

Before she knew what she was doing, Njeri was leading him back to our table. He had his eyes fixed on me and I knew I was in for a fight. Mr Thirty Something sees the arrogant headstrong challenge as a game, but he doesn’t play to win. Only another Thirty Something male can decipher his intentions. He plants seeds of doubt with every step, because he already had the argument with you before you knew you were arguing. He could tear your little universe apart and have no idea what he’d just done.

I knew I shouldn’t as I stretched my hand across and introduced myself. I knew I should have gone to the bathroom in a club across town when he sat near me but he had me boxed in. He was watching me like a cat playing with a mouse.

The set up was perfect. Mr Thirty Something was now playing it by the book. He spoke sporadically, answering only the questions he felt he wanted to answer. He doesn’t mind contradicting himself; he stalked around my perimeter looking for the weak spot.


Njeri had resorted to a sulking heap, and then she was off to the dance-floor to find some much needed attention. He leaned in and then he started tearing into me – he’s got a sense of humour and played the set up flawlessly. He never works hard but he had Njeri’s temperature rising, Lillian was mesmerized, and I was blushing furiously as he led me to the dance floor.

It’s like he could read my mind. Next thing I knew I was in the car getting hot and sweaty with is hand up my skirt. My girls knocked on the car window. Lillian was carrying a much hammered Njeri to a waiting cab. I found out later he paid for the cab. He’s a strategist, Linconian in his thinking. Mr Thirty Something takes hours to sharpen his axe, and then panties drop with one fell swoop.

Until that night, I’d never really considered myself a random panty dropper. Mr Thirty Something got the drop on me and I liked it. A word of advise, though. Don’t drop them knickers unless you’re ready to potentially wind up heavily pregnant and married to a frenetic, passionate, workaholic with an insatiable appetite for life.

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