The feedback I love the most is from the readers who don’t take themselves too seriously. The people who you can tell life for them is a playground and not a set of rigid rules. A Stephene bought my book on Saturday. (Hi Stephene how are you?) I had a Stephen friend in primary school. Stephen Khaemba to be particular. Hailed from the lineage of Mudavadi or is it Messi? Haha. Tall, dark chap. Good heart in his chest. Loved football, clever too, was always a few positions ahead of me, argh. Stephene bought my book. I wasn’t anywhere near my workstation so I texted him.
‘I’m not around my workstation. I will send this before 5pm.’
I didn’t send it anywhere close to 5pm. Let me explain. I was watching Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservation on Netflix. Anthony Bourdain is a chef, writer and traveler with a penchant for stiff drinks. The show has a way of making you lose all sense of time. It’s a travel and food show but that’s not what makes it interesting; it’s the persona that Bourdain brings into it that does. I was between Brazilian Caipirinhas and Kentucky ribs when I remembered I needed to send a book to a Stephene so I sprung out of my couch, flipped open my laptop and hit send.
‘Hi Steve, thanks for your purchase. This has been sent. Please acknowledge receipt.’
‘Acknowledge receipt’ hails from my corporate days, it has completely refused to wash out. Makes me sound like someone who irons his jeans.
‘Hi Kev, Kelvo, Kelvin with an L. Hehehe. I see what you do with the L there? (I don’t know what I do with the L there). I just downloaded the package I will give feedback in the course of next week. Any typo here don’t mind it. I’m on some rum and zero coke. Still on the balcony with Mario Puzo for now.’
I imagined a chap on the balcony in shorts and a t-shirt, the letters on Mario Puzo blurred by the influence of rum and what was it again, zero coke? Huh, you’ve got to love these readers of mine.
‘Alright, have fun. Cheers.’
‘Don’t be bored too single dude, have some fun, the Homabay chic? I’m curious! They say curiosity killed a cat, I wonder why not a baboon. Cheers.’
I knew that was the rum talking and, what did he call it again, yeah, zero coke. I had the widest smile after that exchange. It got me wondering what kind of people read this blog. What are you into? What do you do to unwind? Do you have a fetish, perhaps you are into toes, the big one specifically? I don’t know. You know almost everything about me but I know so little about you.
This blog turned two years old last week. When it was turning a year old I knew everybody who commented here by name, I still do. I also knew everybody who liked and commented on my posts on Facebook by heart. But it’s now getting a bit blurred over there because the village is growing. What would be great is if we introduced ourselves, you know, so we know who is who, so we don’t pass each other on the road or God forbid, marry from the same house. I will start.
I’m Kev. No, that’s not actually what’s on my birth certificate. My mom made sure to put an ‘L’ in Kevin. Perhaps because she thought it was sweet or it was meant to humble me. I highly suspect it’s the latter. People call me Kev, or Kelvo (I secretly hate the people who add the L to the name), others Karis, a few Kisauti. I work in an ad agency as a copywriter—it’s a mecca of ideas. I love that. I read and write all the time. I listen to hip hop, a bit of bongo, sometimes I sing in the shower. I like women like most warm-blooded men do. If I was doing the picking (I feel as if some supreme being does), mine would be tall and slender. With a thing for short skirts. She would be an artist too, good brain in her head. Her hobby would be something romantic, like saving the last mongoose from extinction but those are just dreams but what is a man if not his dreams?
What about you, what are you into, rum and zero coke?
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