Yeah, yeah, yeah!
So I want to have a fling with you. True, ni mimi nilikuapproach and all that shit.
But am a super predator, like a lion. If it wasn’t for the law, I’d wring the neck of that brat you’ve given a ridiculous Americansque name - Shawn, Byron, Krysha - and dump him in the pit latrine, like I once did with a troublesome cat. That way, you could conceive and give birth to my own progeny, not this little shit from the loins of a random manamba who you think I should love as my own.
So, thank the law, and lower them panties, quick. I need to mwaga.
Look, I don’t want to hear how clever and adorable and funny and good-looking your manamba son is. When am talking to you on the phone and asking how your day was so you could think I am a kind and sensitive man (so that you repay me with your vagina over the weekend) I don’t want to hear the brat cuckling like a duck in the background. And NO, bitch, I don’t want to babytalk the manamba’s three-year old on my airtime. Got better things to do, like talking to my own random three-year olds all over the place.
If you want to let your brat talk on the phone, call his daddy, not me. It distracts my focus on what is important to me - your vagina, and the possibilities it carries. Life is about purpose.
And another thing, when we meet and you bring your little shit along, let him be on his best behaviour. No way am I gonna allow him play with the dials of my Merc and honk the horn, laughing stupidly and looking at me for approval. No way am I gonna allow him to spray me with icecream, or fiddle with my phone. You may think its adorable, but that kind of horseplay is reserved for my own flesh and blood. Don’t tempt me to commit murder and look like an ogre. I really love kids - MINE!
So, sweetheart, love your little Einstein and think the world of him, if it makes your boat float. But get this - I don’t love or care for him. To me, he’s food for those Nyayo Stadium birds, but for the law. Were it not for that thing you carry, I wouldn’t notice him any more than I would a random chokora on the streets. I wasn’t there when you lowered your panties, opened up your legs and allowed a man to put his erect penis in you. Get your babydadi to clean up his shit, not me.
And, finally, ALWAYS get the little idiot to take his nap on time so you open them damn legs for me, woman. NEVER, EVER, allow him to come between me and a good orgasm, otherwise when you leave me with him even for a moment all I’ll feed him are red chillies. They leave no marks, you know.
May be if you birth me a child, I might just reconsider and pretend to love your brat. As long as you allow me to use your vagina as a repository of my sperms, any time anywhere.
Or not.