She wants to come along to the game

She wants to come along to the game

What you need to know:

  • I tend to think that I’m a respectful man.
  • I especially respect people’s distance.
  • I also respect people’s private space and their personal time.
  • That is why you will never find me digging my long nose up from deep inside my partner’s business because I can never have put it there in the first place.
  • The men sitting nearby threw me disapproving glances, the kind of glances that said, “We all have girls, but we do not bring them to the game to embarrass us.”

I tend to think that I’m a respectful man. I especially respect people’s distance. I also respect people’s private space and their personal time. That is why you will never find me digging my long nose up from deep inside my partner’s business because I can never have put it there in the first place.

That is why I let the lady off whenever she wants to. If she wants to go spend a weekend out with the girls, then let her rush off. I will even key in some fuel money to assist with the trip. If she wants to go see her family, I’m ready to even drop her there. I know they say your woman is only yours if you have her in your sights, but if she deems it important to give away the cookie while away with the friends, then no amount of tethering and zero grazing will stop her from asking the plumber who fixes the shower to lay any other pipes he may have carried with him.

In the same breath, I also appreciate it if other people, especially the domestic partner, could also only dip their nose into my business, selectively. The lady back home has, alas, developed a penchant of dipping her nose into my football business. Of course this is not to say she has no right to watch the game; she can watch the game all she wants; it is just that I have better ideas on how to spend the 90 minutes of the game than comparing pretty football players with old ones.

Just the other day, I texted Janet to tell her that I will be coming home late, after taking a detour to a Champions League game. She said it was fine and I should have known from the ease with which she agreed that she was not easy with it after all. Because you see, hardly had I settled down into the game than I saw her silhouette form out in the neon lights, her head searching for a common face. She came dashing after she isolated me. She threw her hands all over me, telling me that she feared I would be bored if I stayed alone watching such a long game in the night. Lonely? Whoever gave her the idea that football makes me lonely! This was escalating to a scandalous level, I told myself. Things had to change around here, one of which was, of course, finding a new kafunda, one far off but still off the kawunyemu grid.

Before she came, the game was fun. There was flair on the pitch, and the crowd in the bar was ecstatic, responding with screams after every clever flick. That was until she arrived, and started interrupting our attentive minds with her comments about Danny Welbeck. She felt he was handsome. If I worked out at the gym, I could look as hot as he did one day. The men sitting nearby threw me disapproving glances, the kind of glances that said, “We all have girls, but we do not bring them to the game to embarrass us.”
On the drive back home, she said she enjoyed herself so much, she would want to come along to other games. That is fine, I told her. But even she knew that would not happen again.