Friday, November 10, 2017

Beaten at your own game

 

By Mlagiri Kopoka

As Matata entered the pub that evening, he noted three young women seated at a table, quiet close to the entrance. The pretty creatures were having a meal.

“It must have been a whole roasted chicken that they were consuming,” he thought. The three green bottles of some European brand also featured prominently on the table, accompanying their meal.

A girls alone squad is not something common at Mama B’s. Usually women around this place are accompanied by some male folk footing the bills.

Matata was confused, that’s what he thought. He never imagined at 50plus; he would still be interest in the opposite looks and morphology just like he was as an adolescent.

In fact, he felt more magnetically attracted to these women than when he was in his 20.

But in those days, when ladies fried the hair with hot iron combs, he didn’t remember seeing such beauty as he was witnessing at the table before him. Madonna!

“God forbid,” he thought, he was already a grandfather but here he was eyeing beauties as young his daughters with some really wicked desires creeping into his old brains.

“I am not the one to be blamed,” he thought unrepentantly “It’s all God’s work! God must have changed his creative tactics. These days the Almighty is not only being just more innovative, he must have completely shifted from the ancient expertise that brought our mother Eve into being. He was now in neuroscience’s robotics of ‘ the she’ creation.” He thought and laughed out loud like some lunatic as he sat at the counter.

“Matata vipi leo, what are you giggling at. Are you laughing at the denim mini- skirt I am wearing today?”

Chiku, the barmaid popped in asking, she moved closer, rubbing her bums on Matata’s knees as he sat on one of the high stools.

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