Dear Diary,
The holidays are here, and honey, the audacity is thick in the air. While some well-adjusted humans are buying thoughtful gifts and planning wholesome family time in Kanungu, there is Satan’s spawn out here treating December like it is an all-you-can-date buffet.
They have got a roster. A literal spreadsheet. Black girls on Monday, blonde wigs on Wednesday, the unhinged one who keeps life ‘interesting’ on Friday, the delulu who thinks she is the only one (bless her heart) on Saturday. Flat screens, curved screens, IMAX screens, he is watching them all.
Last year around this time, my friend flew to Zanzibar for a man. Her story is a cautionary tale that needs to be taught in schools. She spent half a year being marinated in her DMs by this man. They were not just chatting, they were in the trenches. Late night video calls. The kind where you do things that would make Bad Black shy. She was preheated. Emotionally invested. Bikini-waxed-ready. Meeting in person was to be the final bake. This man had her so properly seasoned, she could have been served at a Michelin star restaurant.
The red flags? Oh, they were there. Waving. Doing backflips. Performing a whole Broadway show. This girl kept popping up in his ‘Gram like a recurring character in a Telenovella. Nothing scandalous, just there. Consistently like taxes.
‘Oh, that is my gango,’ he said. Sir, your ‘gango’ has been in 47 percent of your posts for the last six months!
But my friend? She believed him. Because when you are marinated, you will believe a man who tells you the sky is red. So she books the flight. Saves up. Packs her cutest outfits. Lands in Zanzibar ready for her things-that-happen-in-Zanzibar-stay-in-Zanzibar.
The story escalated faster than inflation in this economy. ‘Just friends’ became ‘we hooked up once’ became ‘we are currently seeing where things go’ became ‘but I am open to seeing where things go with YOU if you are game!’ Sis did not save her coins, fly economy to be Player Number Two in your little leagues! She came for a romance novel and you handed her a participation medal in a love triangle. Or worse, a threesome because these days? You genuinely never know. People are so ‘woke’ they have opened their minds right into the void.
Here, have some whisky
Baddie, unless you are traveling with your actual committed better half (that term – cringe), or you have a legally binding, notarised agreement with penalty clauses: DO. NOT. BOOK. THAT. FLIGHT! The problem with modern dating is that everyone is a placeholder. We are all just items in a vending machine that never stops restocking. He has got options on options on options, and you are just Wednesday’s Sprite.
So do not book that flight to see Mr Sweet Talker. Do not pay for a full tank to Jinja. Do not spend your resources on his potential because you are independent and sh*t!
And if he is paying? Make him send you the money and you do the booking. Because while men are temporary and unreliable as WiFi in a basement, AirBnBs are NON-REFUNDABLE! At least get a cute solo vacation out of it when Lucifer’s protégé inevitably has ‘dessert after ordering dinner.’
Dating right now is like trying to twerk in a pencil skirt. It is restrictive, uncomfortable, and for those of us blessed with flat-screen posteriors? A complete waste of time! You are just standing there wiggling awkwardly while everyone pretends something is happening.
May my friend’s Zanzibar debacle save you from flying to your humiliation. And to the holiday roster-makers… May all your liqueur be devoid of alcohol!
________________________
-TheKat
Baddie Rule of the Week:
l If he wants to see you, he will send the money – and the money must arrive.
Mini Manifesto:
I am not here to compete for space in a man’s Christmas roster. I am the whole Turkey!
May my worth never be discounted, my peace never be disturbed, and my horn never be placed on standby for someone who keeps refreshing the menu.
This season, the only spirit flying me out is the Holy Spirit, and He doesn’t do economy.