When ‘K’ is for ‘Katastrophe’ 

I woke up bleary-eyed, wearing the clothes I was wearing the day before. I was surrounded by teddy bears.

As I looked at them, I thought about how it was funny that Teddy bears were originally named after the 26th US president, Theodore ‘Teddy’ Roosevelt, a man’s man. Yet it’s mainly ladies who own them. 
Anyway, I lay on a bed in a bedroom with decorative throw pillows and wondered where the hell I was.

By the looks of things, I had slept over at some female’s place. 
The room was pink with flowery wallpaper; on this wall was a framed poem:
“She said I was visible despite being blackboard dark
And chalked it up to my bright smile amidst skin so stark. 

In a remark, Holly was a drama queen to a great degree.
If anyone could act up; Holly would...you’ll agree. 
Still, she couched her every word in a relaxed tone.
If life is a debt to beauty, then God sent her on loan.”
It was signed with the name “Jackson”. 
I thought hard about where I had seen such poetry before, and who the poet was. 
Maybe it was by the late singer since the poetry was bad, Michael Jackson Bad.
When my mind failed to supply any ready answers, I gave up trying to guess who the poet was. 

My head was throbbing, all I could vaguely recall is that the night before was sheer art: sketchy.
Presumably, a lady and I had a good time in which beers and whiskey went down the proverbial hatch like it was a drop zone for German paratroopers in World War II.

No wonder such heavy drinking is, in Kampala, often called ‘German.’ Well, that’s what we called it when we guzzled beers when we were younger. 
I don’t know what the kids call it today but, with the way they binge, they probably just call it life.
Back to this strange bedroom I found myself in.
 
As I lay mentally shipwrecked upon the reef of a hangover, the bedroom door swung open. 
A lady I could have happily had for breakfast then came in with tidings of lunch, as I instinctively clutched a pillow to my privates.

“Good Afternoon sleepy head….come for lunch,” said the chirpy and mysterious lady who was wearing a flowing white dress like she was an angel and I had died and gone to heaven. 
Her sweet-as-pie smile made me appreciate that heaven was no pie-in-the-sky, it was on her face. 

As I got up, I felt the need to ask what I was doing in her place that afternoon. 
I didn’t know who she was, so this was a strange situation indeed. However, as I got up and walked into her living room, I decided to hold my tongue. 

I then looked on in wonderment at a dining table decked out with vegetables, a pitcher of juice and two platters: one of pork, the other roasted beef. 
As a meat and potatoes type of person, this was the perfect meal for me.
“Make yourself at home, Philip,” this lady said to me. 

Wow, this lovely creature knew my name, I said to myself.  
“Thank you….” I stopped mid-sentence because I remembered I didn’t remember her name yet she was so unforgettable.
Not to embarrass her, I decided to discover her name without asking her name. This I would do through a conversational trick I have developed that I call “Name Drop, Name Find.”

In it, I would share with her certain personal dramas of mine and then drop around 20 female cast members of these dramas in the process. 
And if I saw her face register a reaction to one of the names I had dropped, I would conclude the story using that name to ask her a question like: “You like that, Veronica?” 

So I started: “The other day, I was with my home girls Diana, Rebecca, Cynthia, Leila, Cathy, Justine and Josephine. We were chilling in a club and then their friends Mary, Linda, Beatrice, Loyce, Vanessa, Rachel, Bonita, Edna and Julia showed up….”

Watching her facial reaction as I told my story, I realised her face remained impassive as she cradled it with both hands while her unblinking eyes revealed an inner, untrodden road.
So I crossed my fingers, and added on my last four names: “Later that night, we went to a house party in which Sheila, Jackie, Lucy and Monica showed up…” 
Still, there was no reaction from my gracious host.

The next trick was called my “Name Chop, Name Find” trick.
In this, I would tell a lady my nickname and then ask her for hers. 
And usually they’d be like: “Mine is Hills, you know, for Hillary.”
So I started again. 
“Everyone calls me Phil. What’s your nickname?”

“K,” she replied. 
Dayum, I was still stuck. Was “K” short for Katrina, Kansiime or Kabuleta, I asked myself. 
I decided to guess. 
“That’s so cool, Katherine,” I said. 
“Who is Katherine?” she asked angrily before throwing me out. 
To this day, I wonder how good her pork tastes. 

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