First of all, fuck fat taxi conductors. If you’re paid to squeeze yourself onto a ka sliver of chair between a scowling customer and a taxi door, skinniness of hips is an attribute you want to rock. Don’t get all pissed off when I refuse to contract mine to make space for yours that are so obscenely rotund that you really ought to start treating them for rickets of the hips.

You know that celibacy has crossed from righteous lifestyle to inconvenience when a male deodorant rising off the skin of the random guy seated next to you in the taxi gets you all bothered and hot.

You know you’re psychologically ready to start seriously jumping some bones when you practically sense the brother before he enters the taxi.

With that lonely heart ad cleverly inserted into the paragraph above, we can launch into THE STRETCHER ROMANCE!

Taxis are as good a place as any to meet your next soulmate/exmate. I got me a shot about a week ago. This guy was so fine that when I saw him coming, I put my new manicure and book on display. First impressions, man.

I also switched on my most caramel accent (the one that catches boys like honey) for if he said hello, which he did.

Yay. Things were all going according to plan!

Until I parted my lips to croon back hello and realized that mama nyabo I had the smelliest mouth in the world.


Yes. As a direct result of my onion fixation, (totally and completely addicted), I garnish every meal with a ½ a healthy onion or so. This makes for very happy mealtimes but turns my breath vicious.

My breath was vicious.

I couldn’t in good conscience say hello back. What if he’d died? Uganda has too few good-looking brothers as things are. So I had to make a choice. And fast.

I could pretend to be:

A)    Deaf and dumb.

B)    A kwemolara who doesn’t talk talk to strangers in taxis. Msw

C)    Too absorbed in Facebooking on this phone to say hello back

Ericsson PhoneI poke you

D)    Continue Facebooking behind my bag because that phone is so freaking ugly.

I went with C.

A quick sideways glance assured me that his phone was equally hideous, cheap and Chinese. I relaxed.

Because of all the zingy chemistry and pheromone soup we were swimming in, we had to pretend to not be checking each other out WHILE checking each other out.  This involved ignoring each other while not ignoring each other.

So we turned to our respective phones. You know cheap phones have hard buttons, yes? When he started texting (or whatever) and I started Facebooking, our elbows which were jammed against each other pumped and bumped furiously from the exertion of pressing hard, cheap Chinese phone buttons. We clicked for a couple of meters.

Somebody has just informed me that the proper term for what we were doing is elbow fucking.


Anyway so we didn’t talk at all and I had to jam my hand down my throat to keep my stupid giggles in. Stupid giggles.

And  when time came for us to get out of the taxi, I risked a look and realized that I’d been stressing over an OB of mine who we used to call CAMEL as a direct result of the funk he used to give off. Boy did that guy stink. This was a very disappointing realization. I was deeply saddened but also happy for him. He discovered deodorant!

This one was on ULK. Still not a real blogpost.  Boo, Mildred.


About Miz. Kyrte

I read, I write, I love. My favorite quote is: We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. Bukowski, baby! Extremes ;-)

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Permalink 2 Comments

2 responses to “STRETCHER ROMANCE.

  1. Lol. We love you still. 🙂


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