Tag Archives: men

Tall, Dark & Handsome Please!!!

loving-someone-with-depression-830x284

Add a dash of christian, preferably born-again, a hint of faithfulness and a scoop of financial stability. And oh, while at it, sprinkle good-dresser and well-articulated to garnish. Sounds familiar? Yep. These are the many requirements that ladies walk around with in their heads on the daily. Men have their list of requirements as well, reverse the aforementioned, and you have yourself a requirements list for women.

The relationship topic has been over-flogged I know, but stay with me for a bit as I explore another dimension that to me, I rarely read about. Just like any woman out there, I have qualities that I seek out in a man. As I have gotten older, those qualities have changed a lot. Whereas I might have had 10 things on that list, now I pretty much look for just one which was never there. It sprung on me by surprise because it wasn’t something I even thought of. But as my perspective on life changed with time and I got to encounter different people and places, that list of requirements morphed into this single quality.

The list changed because I realized, that is the one thing I would comfortably bring to the platform which would trickle down to other things. This got me thinking about how many people, both men and women meet the requirements of their own list? I consider myself a feminist who advocates for the equal treatment and right of both genders. By that, what a woman is seeking for in a man, she should be able to bring to the table as well and vice versa.

Speaking with a friend recently, he lamented on relationships being a give-give situation where one person is always giving while the other is always taking, and in his biased opinion, women always took. I told him about a saying I heard once which is; “You cannot give what you don’t have”. This explains why people find themselves in unpleasant “situation-ships” except for a few.

Why would anyone have as a requirement from a potential partner to be financially buoyant when they themselves are not? What gives you the confidence to go out seeking for a six pack, when you have a flat pack? Most baffling of all, why do you need him to be a born-again christian when you’ve barely seen the 4-walls of a church in months? You don’t have to match him penny for penny, prayer for prayer or six pack to six pack to request that. You at least need to be working towards that or have met half of your own requirements. Otherwise, what gives you the right to demand these qualities from someone else when you do not possess them yourself?

I have an “aunt” who advises all the time that when it comes to relationships “stick to your kind”. Half the time she is referring to sticking to your race but I would switch it to mean stick to the standards you bring. The truth is, if we observe the world keenly, you would have realized that people almost always stick to their social class when finding a life partner. Sure we have a few cases of a prince/princess dating/marrying below his rank (Kate Middleton anyone?) but those cases are few and far between.

While it makes sense for one to hold themselves in very high esteem and therefore demand high standards, at the same time, we need to give ourselves reality checks sometimes. So when next you are adding a must-have quality in a partner on your requirements list, ask yourself if you bring that quality to the table as well. If not, what are you doing to get yourself on that list because just as you have a list, so does the partner you are looking for. Do your lists match?

Have a blessed day lovely people and as always, thank you for stopping by. I appreciate the time you took to read and if you loved it, please share. And oh, share your thoughts, do you think it is appropriate to require things that you cannot give from a potential partner?

Exes Diaries – Moving On.

emoticons-sadI hate when I have to keep revisiting a painful experience and this one is not fiction. Not that the others have been but just trying to let you how real and excruciating that time was for me. I am in better place now to talk about it without feeling guilt or pain over it and that is thanks to counseling.

In attempt to not completely revisit the issue but still talk about it, here are the links where I shared the story. It is quite lengthy but a good read albeit that it is on such a sensitive topic.

As always, thank you for stopping by and taking the time to read.

My Very Own Bill Cosby. Part 1

My Very Own Bill Cosby. Part 2.

 

 

 

 

Exes Diaries -Dodged a Bullet

stray-bullet-stockI was laying in bed pretending to be asleep when a terse knock on the door startled me out of my sham. My nerves instantly rammed up inside me, arousing a buffet of emotions within. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect but if the note I found stuck under my door was anything to go by, then this stranger shouldn’t be any harm.

I got up, paced slowly towards the door and heaving one last time, I opened it.

In the doorway stood a tall dark chocolate specimen of a man, his smile spoke of a confidence that commanded the moment. He seemed to be one of those who paid attention to their grooming with a clean shaven face and well manicured fingers which drummed on the door pane. His gregarious mien was so captivating that I found myself smiling sheepishly.

“I see you got my note…Stacy”

“I take it you are James? James Asong” I replied, to which he nodded.

He was a distant admirer who wanted more. He knew everything about me and hinted at that knowledge in the note he left. I normally would have been wary of him and considered him a potential stalker but his words were so beautifully written that they tugged at my heartstrings. I can’t quite tell which endeared me to him more, his fine command of the Queen’s language or his beautiful penmanship.

It was 7 pm when he showed up. We ended up chatting till the early hours of the morning. He was very easy to talk to and listened so intently. It was almost a cliche from a romantic movie because he knew what to say, when to say it and the right emotion to lace it with. I fell for his charms that night and missed class that morning, sleeping the night away at daytime in his arms.

As time went on, we grew closer. We had both agreed to practice celibacy, so we found other ways to be intimate and spend time together without breaking the rule. I experienced many firsts with him like my first kiss, first boyfriend et al. He tolerated my excesses and indulged my sensitivities. It was like being in a drunken stupor without all the alcohol. We complemented each other perfectly in more ways than one; physically, emotionally, positively and then negatively.

I learned a lot about myself; who I am in a relationship, who I could be, what I could and could not do and the extremes I was willing to go for my partner like stealing from my father just because he said so. The once self-confident, no-nonsense and assertive person I was once was slowly going into obscurity. My existence gradually seemed to be tied to his and I became dysfunctional in his absence, spending the rest of my time obsessing about his return. My grades began to suffer, my friendships started to fizzle out and the frequency of my visits to our home reduced.

I had become a shadow of myself being with James so much that I didn’t see the picture glaring at me with evidence. How he accepted celibacy without objecting, never attempting to need me sexually or even desire me. His need for money every time he visited and he always seemed to have some major project he was working on. The countless exams he wrote but never actually passing. I missed all that, yet it was all there.

After a year of dating, the honeymoon looked like it was finally coming to a close and the veil that covered my eyes was being lifted to smell the coffee, and smell I did. That was when I found that he had another girl on the side. It was for her he made me steal from my father, it was because of her that it was easy to be celibate and the reason why he always had to go away for those mysterious exams. It was because of another woman. And it was his darling cousin who let me in on the secret – unintentionally.

I was a bitter soul for two weeks following the revelation. How could I have fallen so far and so deep that I almost lost myself, my humanity. Doing the things I could have only imagined in nightmares, losing myself to him and becoming innocuous to the society around me. Indeed, not all that glitters is gold; otherwise how do I explain meeting a charming and alluring man only to be in love with his monster. I was never really mad at his cheating, it saved me a bundle of regret and I am grateful to the other Ms. I would never know which one of us was the mistress but this I know for sure, if I didn’t get out when I did, you wouldn’t be reading this. I dodged a major bullet with James.

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t Call Me Mrs …

1hcd6jb

I was perusing my favorite African website when I came across an article about a group of powerful women coming together to inspire fellow women. One of the women was described as the ‘wife of a comedian’ while the rest were described by their professional achievements. I noticed that the prefix attached to the other women were Ms while the comedian’s wife’s was Mrs.A little digging revealed that she was an accomplished professional in her field, but all that was ignored for the title of a comedian’s wife.

It got me thinking about the many times that Amal Clooney has been referred to as just the wife of George Clooney. Before she became George’s wife, she was first Amal Alamuddin, the lawyer, activist and author. Before George, she litigated high profile cases and clients like Julian Asange, the state of Cambodia, Enron and Koffi Anan to name a few.

I thought this issue would be more systemic to the African society where men have always been considered superior to women but I was unpleasantly surprised to see women labelled like that here too, in the West. As an African, I grew up in a society where although I was fortunate to have parents who valued education and encouraged me to be my best, the society constantly reminded me that I was secondary to a man. As such, it was a norm to see women be introduced by the men they were married to and not their professional achievements.

The same society instigates that single women have nothing else to offer other than being attached to someone. African women often times are not encouraged to live their full potential or to aim high because what’s the point, she is going to end up somebody’s wife anyways. To the African woman’s credit, we are not sitting around and waiting for the men to come wife us up anymore; we are getting out there and getting things done for ourselves, our communities and our families.

Then you do all that, break all those barriers and overcome all the hurdles only for all your accomplishments to be reduced to the title of someone’s wife? Don’t get me wrong, marriage in itself is an accomplishment to be lauded but my opinion is, professional achievements should supersede that especially when in a function made possible by those achievements. The comedian’s wife wasn’t invited to that gathering simply because of who she was married to, it was because of what she had done in her industry which was banking.

I have never heard George Clooney be described otherwise, always only just as an actor. My point is, you never hear a man being introduced by who he is married to no matter how high-profile the woman is( well, except of course Casper Smart who we only know by his affiliation to J.Lo) but women are more than half of the time introduced by their significant others. Why? I feel this is sending a negative message to young women, African women more so which has created this ‘supposed rift’ between married women and single women.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with aspiring to be a ‘Mrs’ even if that is all one aspires to but other women shouldn’t be made to feel incomplete because they aspire to so much more than that title. Some married women feel they are better than their single counterparts just because of that title and society insinuates that the single one has a miserable life because she doesn’t have ‘Mrs’ preceding her name. And if she has worked really hard to attain certain heights professionally and desires marriage as well, then it is just as good. It ticks me then when all she becomes recognized by, is by who she married to when there is so much more to her.

Being African, my view is very unpopular especially among Africans because again, we are taught to yearn for marriage very early on and most of all. I am thankful for my parents particularly because they broke the norm and taught my siblings and I that we could be so much more than some man’s wife. And I want nothing more than to explore my every potential and achieve my dreams. In addition to that, I would want to be with a great man who loves me in my entirety but not be defined by my connection with him. Because if after all I have worked hard for and especially when it matters and I don’t get broached by those accomplishments, then please don’t call me Mrs. It is just another title.

Short Story Thursdays: The Wedding Anniversary

Today would have been Mel and I’s second wedding anniversary. I am not sure how we would have celebrated but in classic Mel fashion, she would have been in charge of all the planning; from picking out the destination, to the hotel, the activities and even the restaurants we would eat at. All I had to do was show up and show up I did as long as we were together. But instead, I found myself surrounded by the four-walls of a courtroom.

I looked down on my watch,dreading what numbers the pointers would settle on. It was such a simple activity yet daunting at the same time. It was 2:33 pm, any minute now the court will reconvene. I had stayed in the court room when it was adjourned for the jury to go deliberate. It was unusual that they let anyone stay inside but everyone was extremely nice to me. One of the court officers had come over to ask me to leave; I looked up and we locked eyes and he motioned his hand in a stay-put gesture. My dad and Mr Epande were unusually gentle with me today seeing as neither of them tried to talk me out of leaving the court room.So I stayed. I don’t know how long the jury had been in there but it seemed like a lifetime. I was ready to put this behind me.

I heard the court bell ring and my body went numb at the sound of it. People were flooding the court room. My palms suddenly got very sweaty and my breath heavy. The jurors came back in and the officer ushered the judge in. I think everyone was staring at me, I could feel it but I was not sure why.

“Will the jury foreperson stand please?” the judge asked. I saw a lady stand up from the corner of my eye clenching a white piece of paper in both hands like her life depended on it. “Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?” she inquired, to which the lady with the piece of paper answered yes.

I must have become a celebrity in that moment because everyone’s focus shifted to me, piercing glances accompanied by inaudible chatter filled the room. I noticed the guards repositioning themselves, hands akimbo directly above their guns, one after the other. They must have been expecting me to erupt into some kind of outburst or pandemonium. So the guards were getting themselves ready just in case and others prepping their cameras for action time. It saddened me that in that moment, the attention had shifted from Mel to me for the wrong reasons. How could they even think for a second that I would jeopardize this moment? Mel would finally get justice.

My hands balled into fists on my knees, moving up and down in a contrived motion on my thighs. I had to device a means of staying calm and this was it. I listened intently, it had finally come down to the wire and Mel would get justice. It was her day. Her birthday after all.

We met in school at the beginning of a Fall semester six years prior when we happened to register for the same course. I was sitting at the back of the class when she walked in last after the professor. She was clad in ripped blue jeans, a white t-shirt and flats with her hair parted to the side and bouncing in the air like she was a movie star. I was in my senior year but had never set eyes on this beauty before. I wondered why? I knew I won’t be going home without as much as knowing her name.

I waited outside the door as soon as the class was over, I had never felt so scared and intimidated to talk to a lady before.Everyone was out in minutes but her; turns out she was a slow one, the last to arrive and the last to leave as well. “Are you alright?” That was my ice breaker when I got back into the classroom and saw her sitting by herself, all secluded. she nodded, “just not sure about this course. Did you hear what he said? oh my world” she uttered evenly before looking up.

“You will be fine. Professor Reid is one of the best, I had him for all my finance courses. I am Emanuel Ndive by the way. You are…” I cackled, stretching my hand towards her.

“Melissa Epande”. she answered with a coy smile and a knowing stare in her eyes. That was the beginning our love story. My last year of college was the best because of her. We became inseparable in a short time, studying together, eating, playing and dancing together. How we found ourselves in a big country such as America, both from the same country and region was nothing short of God’s divine purpose.She was indeed my ride-or-die chick. I graduated and got a job in Atlanta and she had two more years to go.

We would talk on the phone all week, texting and emailing with occasional video-chats at least once a week and made a point to see each other during weekends. She was the most supportive person I ever met, believed in me more than I believed in myself and loved me with all my flaws as I did her. She had the delicate skill of falling on herself and no matter how hard she tried, she always soiled herself during every meal. Her voice was so soft and she spoke very gently, almost as if she was afraid to break the air. Her dimple accentuated her face every time she smiled and it melted my heart every single time. She was the only one who could tease me about how archaic my name Emanuel was and at the same time come up with a nicer version “Ems”.

Her white smile flashed before me and my fists clenched harder.

The judge asked the defendant to rise which he did. He was a nineteen year old Caucasian kid dressed in a black suit and sky blue shirt .He held his head down and bound his hands together before him. Mel should have been standing here with me not him.

July 10th was our wedding day two years ago,Mel had chosen it because it was also her birthday which surprised me that she would want to share two significant days like that at all. It was also on July 10th I proposed to her right after her graduation and I was the happiest man alive on earth that day when she said yes. We sure loved July 10th didn’t we?

I was in church two hours early, waiting with my parents and friends for Mel to walk through those brown mahogany doors and be handed over to me and for the priest to make it official that she was mine forever. I could hardly wait to see what her dress looked like; Mel had an impeccable taste in clothes, so I knew I was in for a treat. Mel was always late, which is why I never second-guessed why she was so behind schedule on that day or even called to check on her.

I was still standing at the alter when I saw my dad run out to continue a call he had just received. He stayed out for a while, then my best man Gabriel was called out too. I felt uneasy within me, it was as though someone had punched me in the gut and I was about to throw up. Gabe came back in looking somber and proceeded to give me the tightest hug. He was crying.

“On the count of manslaughter, how do you find the defendant?” the judge intoned. “Your honor, we find the defendant guilty”. The emotions from that day came rushing back, I was being torn anew. My mom rushed to my side and cradled my head in her bosom, whispering incantations in my head. They couldn’t even find the moronic son of bitch guilty on a second degree murder charge?.

I would never see her pearly white smile again, no thanks to a reckless Josh Porter. He was drunk as a skunk behind the wheel when he lost control of his car, crashing into the limousine that was bringing Mel to church. The ambulance got to her as quick as they could but she was DOA – dead on arrival. Everyone else got out alive but not my Mel.

I was in the clouds while the judge gave her final comments and exited the court room, sentencing was scheduled for next week. The officers took Josh away in handcuffs; my dad and Mr Epande were hugging each other, a queue formed with people trying to condole with me. I didn’t think I was up to it.

I pulled out my phone and listened to the last voicemail she left me on her way to church.

“Ems I am sure you are wondering what girl shows up late at her own wedding right? (she giggled.) “Well, none other but yours truly. I am sooorrryyy (she teased).Moving on………… (takes a deep breath) I am glad you didn’t answer honey, because I want you to have this message always, to be reminded when things get hard, when times get tough, when I get difficult that we are in this together. I love you with all my being and I cannot wait to be your wife. I promise to always be there, remain your number one fan and just do what I do best, love you. You have changed my life (sounds a bit raspy) ….for the better and I will spend my days making you the happiest man alive. My best friend, I love you forever. (breaks into a scream) I cannot wait to be Mrs Ems”.

I would have seen her call if I wasn’t busy chatting it up with my groomsmen.I should have called to check on her, find out what the delay was about. To hell with the norm, we should have driven together. It should have been me. Josh the nineteen year old who was drunk to stupor at 2pm on a Saturday and on a suicide mission should have hit me instead. Not Mel.

I brushed my mom off of me and broke through the crowd, I needed to get some air and clear my head. I didn’t want to let Mel go but I knew today I needed to move forward with my life. It had been on hold for two years. I pushed open the black oak door and stumbled into the streets, bumping into somebody.

“I am so sorry. Are you alright?” I asked frantically, feeling like a jerk.

“It’s nothing…… I. Am. Fine” the lady replied, flashing a beautiful white smile.

“I am Emanuel. Ems for short” I said, stretching my hand to meet hers.

“Rosemary. Rose for short”.

Love Actually !?!?!?!?!?

It is the longest and oldest race ever run and the stiffest pursuit many have faced and yet, the world or most of us are still chasing it – Love. It is because of love that Romeo and Juliet died, it  was for the same reason that King Edward VIII abdicated the throne to be with his lover.

Love has been the reason behind some of the most heinous crimes known to man, and also the very reason behind the most unexpected kindness to man. Families have been known  to fall apart because of love when kids especially make “wrong” choices in partners. Love has brought the most unlikely people together and torn the most loyal of friendships into shreds.

Even the big book of Wisdom is not immune from the “wrath” of love; because Jacob loved Rachel so much, he endured an additional seven years of work after marrying Leah before he could finally be with his beloved.Rebekah loved and cherish one son over the other so much that she didn’t mind conning him out of his rightful blessings and the greatest love of all, that of Jesus Christ who died on the cross to save us all from eternal damnation.

With all of these, you would think that “we” have enough love lessons to learn from or maybe conclude that it is too cumbersome for one to deal with, but that is absolutely not the case. Everyone still yearns for that someone to call their own; someone to share experiences with and make memories that will stand time. Everyone hopes that love deals them a better hand and prays that they are lucky in love.

I have had countless encounters with love; some good, some bad, some outright bitter experiences but at the end of the day, I have found myself confused. I guess my dilemma at this point is when do you actually consider love to be love?

I am a very sensual person, sometimes too akin to my feelings and emotions. When I first meet someone that I like, I am sure like everyone else, there are those butterfly feelings. Granted they go away but that deep longing is always lingering around long after the butterflies have left.

But what is it then when you neither feel the butterflies nor the deep longing but clearly feel, to a large extend some level of connection? Or can the type of affection you feel toward somebody change to be another kind of affection? Say, at the beginning you are romantically and even sexually endeared to the person and after a while, you become more endeared to them in a casual/ brotherly way?

I am aware of cases where people who were formerly friend-zoned transitioned to become the lovers. In those cases, the affection changed from friendliness to something deeper. I am also aware that people break up when they don’t feel anything for each other anymore, when they feel they just can’t make it work. But my bind here is this, what about those people who know for sure they feel something but can’t quite define it?

I guess what am asking is what happens when the butterflies go away, when the longing and yearning for one another diminishes or disappears in some cases, when the spark is lost, and when desire is gone? What happens?

I often wonder how couples, my parents inclusive are able to stay with the same person for that long. I understand that the “how to” business thrives on couples but outside of that, what keeps people together really? Love actually or the realization that that is the best they might ever get and stick with it? Or is it a calculated decision? (believe it or not,some peoples’ decisions to stay in a relationship are influenced by the economic advantages/disadvantage of staying).

Life is difficult as it is already (well, for most of us anyways who are in the 1%), add love to the mix and you are faced with a complex situation which can go either of two ways. If you are dealt the right cards, it eases your life because it provides you a partner to share experiences and struggles with. But if you are unlucky, you might as well be digging your own grave because there is no telling how bad it is going to get and how soon.

Yet again, there are those of us who are in a lurch, neither knowing what or how to describe what we feel and yet unwilling to let the other party go.Sure it is unfair to them, but then, there is that future uncertainty and the promise that time gives us, that things could change for the better or worse still.

One thing I know for sure though is that love is indeed a beautiful feeling and my wish is for everyone to experience it at least once in their lives. I have experienced amazing selfless love and right now, I am sort of in limbo about my exact feelings at the moment but hope I can resolve it.

I wish you all love today and hope we all experience it today either by receiving or giving. Have a blessed rest of the week and as always, any love tips, advice, experiences are welcome.Happy Wednesday folks.

Short Story Thursdays: The Second Date

The phone rang but before it could ring a second time, I lunged in its direction to answer the call I had been waiting for all day.

‘I am here, – in front of your house I hope’. He said with a subtle voice.
‘Ok, will be out in a minute’, I replied. I prayed he hadn’t read the nervousness in my voice as I hurried to join him. On my way out the door, I took a last glance in the mirror and heaped a heavy sigh, ‘Calm down Maggi’ I told myself and rushed out.
‘hmmm, you look very beautiful tonight’ he quipped as he unabashedly examined my contours and outfit. I had donned my favorite pair of blue jeans and a beaded cream top, complete with a pair of nude flats. I had very light make up on and though I was nervous, I was wearing confidence too. I could feel his glare on every ounce of my body but I managed to utter some words in reciprocation.
‘Thank you. You look gorgeous yourself….’ Barely did I finish my sentence when the door to the passenger side swung open, he held it with one hand and with the other, ushered me in. It was the first time I remembered a guy opened the door for me and I felt like a princess. He was clad in sleek jeans and a plain white tee, a navy blazer with a clean fit-to-size sneaker. He accessorized his clean-shaven face with a flat cap.
It was 7pm, the time we had fixed for the date after I took him up on his offer. From the house, he was the sublime gentleman; not just with opening doors before me, but checking in between conversations if I was comfortable. The drive to the restaurant couldn’t be any more pleasant. We had an easy flowing conversation like we knew ourselves for a long time. Heck, we had known each other for a long time, only, not in this intimate sense.
I met him a few months back, when I walked into the Five Guys restaurant to have my first burger. He was the manager on duty and the cashier who took my order; a dialogue stemmed from my revelation that it was the first time I was trying the “best burger” in America as it had been dubbed. My next visits were short but filled with chit-chats here and there. We became good acquaintances who seemed to enjoy short conversations with each other whenever we could. But on one of such visits, we didn’t just chit-chat; we had a good and thoughtful conversation that clearly couldn’t be finished while he worked. So he gave me his number and asked that I call him; normally, I would have disposed of it but figured I might need the distraction sometime and kept it. I liked him enough to want to talk some more, so I called him three days later and here we were, on our way to the date.
He planned for us to dine at a Cuban restaurant after I told him I had never had Cuban food. Unfortunately, arriving at the restaurant, it was closed for renovations. He was disappointed and it was understandable. To be a good sport, I suggested other venues I was comfortable going to. We drove around a few minutes and finally decided on the Olive Garden.
Dinner was wonderful and it wasn’t even the food. It was the way he went about the evening, it was as though I could see through him. His appetite for food and the fine things in life and how free he felt with me, spoon-feeding me in public. We talked over dinner and the conversation was the regular boy-meets – girl-first-date conversations. Our likes, aspirations, families, cultures and stories. He was pretty straight forward and unapologetic about his views on life and other things, which was very refreshing to see in a man.
One of those views was pre-marital sex which he didn’t think was wrong as long as both parties agreed to it and he thought religion was overrated. My view was different from his and we spent a good time on the topic, with him trying to convince me to see things his way and I vice versa. It was a civil discussion with no angst or misgivings.
He asked me to a movie after dinner, to which I agreed. He had been sweet, caring and doting all evening and I wasn’t ready to leave him just yet. ‘The Dark Knight Rises’ was the movie, and for such a late showing, it was packed. We sat at the last but one row in the back to the left. As usual, it was freezing cold in the hall. He noticed me shivering and gave me his jacket, holding me in a tight embrace. The cold seemed to vanish instantly. The warmth radiating from his body coupled with his scent, drew me in deeper and I cradled even closer. It felt good and safe just sitting there, wrapped in his arms.
Assuden, half-way through the movie, in a very soothing voice he asked ‘can I?’
‘Sure’ I replied, not fully understanding what he meant. Before I could process the question further, he launched forward and his lips were against mine. In no time, I grasped what was going on and I leaned in and indulged him. It was a hot, steamy and passionate kiss. Best one I have had yet.
A few hours later, he dropped me home. We both had a great time, evident on his demand for a second date, to which I gladly accepted. He walked me to the door, hugged me so tightly I didn’t want to let go, and kissed me again. He promised to call once he got home, which he did.
It was Sunday evening and I had waited all day for his call, I had anticipated this second date all weekend long. My anxiety gradually dissipated as time went by and by night-time; it dawned on me I had just been stood up, for the first time in my life.
It turned out I would be waiting for days and weeks on end for an explanation from him, detailing why he stood me up which never came. I tried to stop myself from contacting him severally but eventually caved to the temptation. So I sent him a text pretending to check on him but he never replied.
Six weeks passed before I walked in to the Five Guys restaurant to get a burger and there he was. The manager on duty and available cashier who took my order, – yet again. I became nervous and could only hope he didn’t think I came to shove myself in his face but at the very least; he would apologize and explain himself, an explanation I wasn’t sure I fancied anymore.

He didn’t even look me in the face as he took my order. He was very civil and cold at the same time. I was just another customer and he was just doing his job. He never said a word and I stood aghast for what felt like a lifetime. With whatever dignity I had left, I collected my order when it was ready and ran for my car.
It was a befuddled ride home. Like most girls, I had already planned so many adventures for our third and fourth dates. But how was that to ever be if he never showed up for the second?