DISCLAIMER: This is another post straight from head to blog. You have been warned.
So sometime in the recent past, I was invited to a party going on not too far from my house. In true Joy fashion, I promptly resolved not to go: I would rather lay curled up in a warm shape in bed, intermittently pressing my phone and watching some sitcom or other. This was my grand design.
I hadn’t factored in the fact that the girl who invited me is a rather persistent creature. She was determined to attend by all means, and also intended to ensure that I went along with her. So after she bugged me like a bad case of lice, I obediently changed into some more partyish-looking clothes and dragged myself outside to where she was waiting. I would attend alright, but would do my thing: hang out in a corner from where I would watch the revelers while browsing, tweeting, whatsapp-ing and bbm-ing my way through it all. Lovely plan I had. Didn’t work though.
It started literally from the minute I stepped out my gate. Some toasta, allegedly “wanting to marry me” (don’t they all? *eye roll*) stopped his car and offered me a ride. My girlfriend vehemently refused to get in the car with him. I don’t particularly like him either, so I turned him down.
We get to the party and I notice that there seem to be a lot more guys than girls. No problem. I hang out outside for a bit with a colleague of mine (male), and a few of his other (male) friends. So I’m basically just enjoying myself, the fresh night breeze which is a rare treat for me, pressing my phone, and gisting with said colleague.
Everything would have gone well, right?
Not so much.
One of his friends (potbelly, slow toad eyes, bulky frame, much older) takes it into his head that he must hit on me or perish. And so it begins.
He beats around the bush in the usual manner, what’s your name, where are you from, oh, really?, etc etc till I’m struggling to cope with that cheek-ache you get when you smile fake smiles for too long. Anyways, he finally says some crap about how the problem with the town for him is that he’s always lonely. Here we fucking go again.
Toad Eyes sha gets up the liver, gall and effrontery to say; “Joy, I’m lonely and you must help me. So how do we do it?”
My skin crawled in repulsion and a steadily building annoyance. There he stood o, rubbing his well-rounded stomach in the most lascivious of ways, his eyes shining on my boobs. He had stripped me naked, hung my clothes up somewhere far away, and I could almost feel his slimy drool trickling down my skin. I wanted to throw up. I swear to you; if I’d anything sharp close by, I’d be wanted for at least attempted manslaughter by now.
I am proud to say that I held my rage within me, ignored him completely and faced my phone until he got the message and moved on to some other female.
More and more these days, I’m disgusted and thoroughly ticked thuh heeyyull off with brazen, crude and borderline sexual harassment-type advances from the men around me. Oh well, good thing I don’t go around carrying heavy or sharp objects.
Not usually, anyway.
No men were harmed in the creation of this post.
Some men were done grievous bodily harm. In my head. Where all madness begins.
Cheers, darlings. Mwah!