What you need to know:
- I got only as far as the next bus stop before I alighted and went back home. That was the only way I was going to get her out.
- I now understand my grandmother’s stories about how girls would just move into a man’s place and send word that they weren’t coming back home.
I thought it would be easier getting back into the work groove but the lesson I’m learning is that it doesn’t.
The only difference is that we’re adults and so we can’t roll on the floor and throw a tantrum, but we all know that if we could, we would.
It’s like we’re in primary school again and we’re just realising that the holiday is over and that we have to come up with that amazing lie about why we didn’t do our holiday homework before the great ass whopping that awaited you. I’m sure if bosses could spank you, they would.
This week reminded me of days long ago when I had a female guest for the weekend for a two-day meditation session, and those two days unwillingly turned into a week.
I thought that our gland-to-gland combat session was over but she didn’t. I hinted that Monday had come and that I was sure she had places to be but she didn’t.
I hinted that I had work to do and since she knew I was a freelancer (and that I worked from home), she said that she’d be quiet as I worked.
She was either utterly clueless or utterly shameless - I couldn’t tell. This went on for a few days.
I felt like a prisoner in my own home. I felt like if I left and came back, a precedence would be set that this was a marriage because I literally had to fight her to cook and wash clothes, in my own home!
She would tell me she knew that work was stressful enough and she’d do the household chores so I didn’t have to worry about them too.
The woman is now a responsible member of society with a well-paying job, a husband and two children.
Anyway, after numerous hints, I got forthright that I needed my space, and that she needed to leave. She calmly listened, looked sad and went to the bedroom.
I assumed she had gone to pack and went on working. Evening reached and I assumed she was leaving but Carol, let’s call her that, went to the kitchen and started making dinner. I couldn’t believe it.
I was wondering whether I was mad or whether this was normal. Enough was enough, though.
The next day I woke up and said that I had a work trip and she asked how long I would be away. The audacity!
I told her that she had to leave, too, because I never leave anyone at my place, and that I didn’t have a spare key. She thought I was joking.
I packed and when I saw that she was slacking, I started packing up her stuff too. That’s when I realised she had packed a week’s worth of clothing for a weekend.
She had even put some of her clothes in my drawers. When she saw me packing up her stuff, she huffed and pouted but got ready to /leave.
Anyway, we both left the house, went to the matatu stage, waved goodbye and I left for my “trip”.
I got only as far as the next bus stop before I alighted and went back home. That was the only way I was going to get her out.
When I saw a story this week about a guy who took this babe to a supermarket and pretended to go for something on the other side of the supermarket and ran, I understood just what the guy was going through.
I started a conversation online, and men started to open up and women were surprised that this was an actual problem that men face.
One guy had to pack a month’s worth of belongings and pretend to be moving to Meru just to get her to leave.
Another had to tell her that his wife was coming back from shags after going there to live with his mother after giving birth.
Another guy faked a church evangelism mission to Nakuru but she decided to accompany him to the 2NK matatu offices, so he had to buy a ticket and board the matatu.
One guy narrated how he had tried to get this woman to leave for a while to no avail.
And one time when he and this girl were sitting in awkward silence, she laughed hysterically and said, “I know you want me to leave but I won’t”. That’s just batsh*t crazy.
The stories kept on pouring in and some of the people intimated to me what they had to do wasn’t nearly legal.
I now understand my grandmother’s stories about how girls would just move into a man’s place and send word that they weren’t coming back home.
I wonder how men got married because they just couldn’t get their sleepover mate out of the house.
How many weekend sleepovers led to one oops baby, and then three, and it was too late to ask her to leave?
Anyway, men need to figure out ways of being upfront about how long these sleepovers will be.
Either that or find a “policeman friend” to call and pretend to arrest you because you really don’t have many options.
Trying to kick her out is extremely risky because the story could turn at the snap of a finger and you’ll suddenly be that guy who’s violent and abusive, so you have to resort to trickery.
Either do that, or always play away games and tell her that you are homeless. Do what you have to do.