My most boring date experience? Well, I once went on a date with an overly-confident man. As I sipped on my regular coffee and he on his espresso, he leaned back in his chair with his hands at the back of his head. Looking at me from the top of his eye-glasses, he proudly told me that he earns Shs8 million per month and that is after taxes! I did not remember asking him how much he earns, so I was trying to figure out why I was being told this seemingly important fact.
While listening to him go on and on about his farm, cars and the house he was constructing, I could not help wondering why all this money could not buy him a Shs500 needle and thread to fix the gaping hole under his arm, or at least a shaver to rid him of all that hair that was on show through the hole, in his allegedly expensive shirt. I did not tell him about the hole because I feared that information would puncture his flimsy money-minded ego, so I just sat there oohing and aahing at the one-sided conversation, willing time to go by faster.
Then there was the club date. I still do not understand why we go to the night club. Yes, to dance and hang out with friends, but really, with the crowd, there is usually little or no space to even stretch an arm and the music is too loud to allow for conversation. So apart from a few who go to genuinely dance and have fun, most people just stand there holding their drinks, pretending to be dancing yet what they are really doing is ogling other revellers. The guys, usually to find an easy victim to take home for the night and the girls, to show off their dance strokes, curves, clothes, ward off the preying drunkard who wants to grope every female, laugh at what other people are wearing and some, to get someone to go home with. The last time I went out, I was lucky to find a chair. I sat there yawning, looking at girls dressed in what looked like clothes, blowing rings of shisha smoke and at the same time, munching on half-burnt pork sausages. I saw ‘excited’ couples making out in the chairs, waiters taking aantage of the dark to pick up bottles even before they were completely emptied, and women’s wigs falling off due to the vigorous dance moves. My poor date stood by, trying to interest me in the so-called glamorous Kampala night life. A couple or more years back, I too would be enjoying myself but alas, age has caught up with me, well at least according to the birth date printed boldly on my National ID. I might as well go check my voting details at the polling station so I can for the first time, cast a vote. After all, that is what grown ups do, right? As for the late nights at the clubs, they are a thing of the past and, therefore, a terrible date idea.
So what would be a good date? Uuuhm, let’s see good food, great music, preferably by a well-rehearsed band which does not hinder conversation, balanced conversation with as minimal bragging and sexual innuendos as possible, and no constantly- blipping phones. But that is just me, I am sure somewhere out there is a ‘hot’ girl whose ideal night out is standing on a plastic chair, swinging her little behind clad in polka dot leggings to Nigerian singers Don Jazzy and The Mavins’ song Looku looku while downing endless beers and popcorn!
SOURCE: Daily Monitor