And I’m fussy in the strangest way. Like, for example, I will insist on my dream car being burgundy – not dark red. But I will forget that I haven’t changed my jeans in a week, or cleaned my carpet in a month. I will obsess against fingerprints on my monitor or glasses, but will happily sit at said monitor when my house hasn’t seen a broom, duster, mop, or any attempt at tidiness in … a very long time. Really, some things just escape my notice. Call it selective fussation.
No, that’s not a real word.
Despite my fussiness, or perhaps because of it, I wonder about certain things. Things like ‘the truth will set you free’ being utter bull, because in most instances, like say, cheating, stealing, comments concerning weight loss et al, the truth will get your rear kicked. Haiya!
Things like humans insisting that patience is a virtue, then bending over backwards to invent endless instant things, from microwaves to nescafé. Things like why bulls**t is a swear word, but cowdung isn’t.
But I suppose what intrigues me the most is our genetic drive to be who we are not. We will all claim how we want politicians people that are true and sincere, yet we really can’t handle it. I mean think about it. We all say that a true friend is one who tells it like it is, who shoots from the hip and all that. But given a choice, if you had to hang out with a chocolate bar, a parrot, or a weighing machine, what would you choose?
A chocolate bar makes you feel good no matter what happens, and you can’t prove conclusively that it’s bad for you. You may hear rumours, you may have suspicions, but there is plenty of reasonable doubt involved.
A parrot echoes whatever you say, so technically, it always agrees with you. A weighing machine can’t lie unles you beat it[‘s springs] to death and paint over the kilo numbers.
If you had a friend who constantly berated your [genuinely] long nose, how long would you stay buddies? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who flatters your hair even when you both know it’s a weave?
My baby made a comment recently that tickled me to no end. Apparently, I always frown when I’m in the kitchen. It’s as if I’m angry at the food, she says. My best friend echoed the sentiment, though he attributed the grimace to intense concentration. Truth is, I’m extremely undomestic and I detest all forms of housework. The only thing that gets me in the kitchen is love – love of my baby’s stomach. But that doesn’t make the experience any less gruelling for me. Which, I suppose, is why I make faces at the stove.
The weird thing is, I’d never noticed it until they said it, and ever since they did, even though the face-thing is completely subconscious, I keep ‘looking’ at myself to see when I’ve turned the frown right side up. I can almost feel when it happens, and I have to keep reminding myself to stop.
Now being me, I will shout and yell that I love the honesty of these darlings, and that I’d always prefer the truth to a lie. But I have to admit: it’d feel better to have them [falsely] compliment my cooking. I’m not saying I want them to, I’m just saying it’d feel better.
Therefore then, it follows that good liars are more popular than truth-tellers. And it doesn’t even have to be a lie as such, it could simply be a changing of the subject to say what the person wants to hear. Some call it being a pretender, but I call it good PR. It’s what makes soaps, sports, and tabloids more popular than news; they focus on what people want.
Me, I have extremely bad PR, and I am struggling with the choice of improving the skill versus being unpopular. It should be a very easy decision, but sadly, it’s not; alas, I’m am shallow and petty, I love to be loved.
And while we’re high on ‘haiya’, there’s a certain billboard on Uhuru Highway and Waiyaki way that has a … female … body part … in pink. Every time I pass it, I twist my head as I try to figure out exactly what it is. It’s not a head, because the ‘neck’ curves too much, it’s not a back or ribcage-padding, for the same reason, it’s not a bottom or a thigh as far as I can tell … does anyone have any idea what exactly that is?
Still on the subject of billboards, why is the Fanta in the billboard on the Mbagathi roundabout [and Valley Road] yellow?
♫ Haiya ♫ Harry Kimani ♫